Marlene Potter and the Philospher's Stone
by LeeRowan
Summary: Magic, dragons, and the Philosopher's Stone. Marly is not amused. girl!Harry, with a realistic take on the characters. Plot is very similar to canon, but changes as story progresses. Rated T for violence. (Looking for better cover art) (Written by a Canadian so don't expect British or American spelling/grammar)
1. Table of Contents

Marlene Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

(Harry Potter (c) JKRowling, Marlene Potter written by lee rowan)

1. The Girl Who Lived (_completed, posted 27/3/2013_)

2. The Vanishing Glass (_completed, posted 29/3/2013_)

3. Letters From No One (_completed, posted 31/2/2013_)

4. The Keeper of the Keys (_completed, posted 2/4/2013_)

5. Diagon Alley (_completed, posted 4/4/2013_)

6. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters (_completed, posted 6/4/2013_)

7. The Sorting Hat (_completed, posted 8/4/2013_)

8. The Potions Master (_completed, posted 9/4/2013_)

9. The Midnight Meeting (_completed, posted 12/4/2013_)

10. Halloween_ (completed, posted 14/4/2013)_

11. Quidditch_ (completed, posted 16/4/2013)_

12. The Mirror of Erised_ (completed, posted 18/4/2013)_

13. Nicolas Flamel_ (completed, posted 20/4/2013)_

14. Dragonspeaker_ (completed, posted 22/4/2013)_

15. The Forbidden Forest_ (completed, posted 24/4/2013, reposted 26/4/2013)_

16. Through the Trapdoor_ (completed, posted 26/4/2013)_

17. The Man With Two Faces_ (completed, posted 28/4/2013)_

_Book Two will be posted starting in mid-May. Check back starting May 14 or so, which is when I will try to put up the first chapter, or just put me on author alert :)  
_

_Thanks to Daughter of Rhea for agreeing to beta the remaining books._

_Reviewer Acknowledgements (&answers):_

_Attack-of-the-Blue-Penguins (thanks! and thanks for reviewing! :)_

_KeepingUpDisappearances (as I said in the story description, it sticks close to canon to start with. Minor changes now means major changes start later and make the overall story increasingly AU. Thanks for reviewing! :)  
_

_Guest (thanks for letting me know! I've updated all chapters to make sure that is no longer a problem. Thanks for reviewing! :)_

_SkyeBlue (thanks! yup, little changes now means bigger changes later. Thanks for reviewing! :)_

_bookaddict19 (thanks for letting me know! I've updated all chapters to make sure that is no longer a problem. Thanks for reviewing! :)_

_john86710 (yes, her initial personality is the same as Harry's, but little changes now means bigger changes later, it's like plotting a large trajectory. Thanks for reviewing! :)_

_xxxMadameMysteryxxx (thanks, glad you like it! I follow a regular update schedule, as stated in the summary. Thanks for reviewing! Three times, that's awesome :)  
_

___Immortal Ice Phoenix (you're absolutely right! I didn't put Draco in at first, then for some reason I forgot he didn't have detention and added him in later. Fixed! Thanks for bringing that to my attention :)_

_charlielifelover (I tried to make it seem like Marly made him think more, and try to break away from his father's opinions in order to be considered a person himself. It might become more apparent in later books. Hm, maybe! I want to finish this series before I give yours my whole attention, but maybe on the side I can write a few chapters :) thanks for reviewing! :)  
_


	2. The Girl Who Lived

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense...

...a man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots were unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again—the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh, yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls...shooting stars...Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent—I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something ,but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really _has_ gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A _what_?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she din't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who _has_ gone—"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense—for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort._" Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, semed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know-oh, all right, _Voldemort_, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too—well—_noble_ to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the _rumours_ that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're _saying_," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is the Lily and James Potter are—are—that they're—_dead_."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James...I can't believe it...I didn't want to believe it...Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know...I know..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' daughter, Marlene. But—he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Marlene Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke—and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's—it's _true_?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done...all the people he's killed...he couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding...of all the things to stop him...but how in the name of heaven did little Marly survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers' instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "He'd just—just brought Marly to Madam Pomfrey...I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why _you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Marlene to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she has left now."

"You don't mean—you _can't_ mean the people who live _here_?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore—you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son—I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Marlene Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for her," said Dumbledore firmly. "Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous—a legend—I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Marlene Potter Day in the future—there will be books written about her—every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes—yes, you're right, of course. But at least, allow me to explain to Petunia...I remember her now, from when I delivered Lily's letter. And—but—how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Marlene underneath it.

"Very well, if you insist, Minerva," he nodded. "Hagrid's bringing her."

"Good. Thank you. You think it—_wise_—to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to—what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky—and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so _wild_—long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the side of trash can lids ,and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir—house was almost destroyed, but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol, stayed asleep all through Madam Pomfrey's examination."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of red-and-black hair over her forehead they could see a small bandage; Dumbledore removed it to see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where—?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "She'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Madam Pomfrey's got it healing—but even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well—give her here, Hagrid—we'd best get this over with."

Dumbledore took Marlene in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I—could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Marlene and gave her what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!" By that, she meant the other Muggles in the neighborhood, not the Dursleys—as she was planning to wake them herself in a few minutes.

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it—Lily an' James dead—an' poor little Marly off ter live with Muggles—"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm. Dumbledore laid Marlene gently in her arms, took a letter out of his cloak and tucked it inside Marlene's blankets, then stood back by Hagrid. For a full minute, the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall—Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall sniffed sadly in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the form of Professor McGonagall on the step of number four, raising one hand to knock.

"Good luck, Marly," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Marly Potter rolled over inside her blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on McGonagall's sleeve beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing she would be woken in a few minutes by the strident tones of Mrs. Dursley as she opened the front door to see 'one of _them_,' nor that she would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by her cousin Dudley...She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Marlene Potter—the girl who lived!"


	3. The Vanishing Glass

**CH 2: THE VANISHING GLASS  
**

* * *

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up in the middle of the night to find their niece and a severe-looking witch on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-coloured bonnets—but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that a girl lived in the house, too.

Yet Marlene Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Her Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Marlene woke with a start. Her aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Marlene heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. She rolled onto her back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. She had a funny feeling she'd had the same dream before.

Her aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," said Marlene.

"Well, get a move on, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Marlene groaned.

"What did you say?" her aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing…"

Dudley's birthday—how could she have forgotten? Marlene got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. She found a pair under her bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Marlene was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where she slept.

When she was dressed she went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not the mention the second television and racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Marlene, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise—unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favourite punching bag was Marlene, or it would have been, if he could ever catch her. Marlene didn't look it, but she was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Marlene had always been small and skinny for her age. She looked even smaller and skinnier than she really was because all she had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than she. Marlene had a thin face, knobbly knees, black-and-red hair, and bright green eyes. She wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had tripped her and she'd fallen on her face. There were two things Marlene liked about her appearance: her wild black-and-red hair, and a very thin scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She had had it as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking her Aunt Petunia was how she had gotten it.

"In the car crash with your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions—that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Marlene was flipping the omelets.

"Brush your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Marlene needed a haircut. Marlene must have had more haircuts than the rest of the girls in her class put together, but it made no difference, her hair simply grew that way—all over the place.

Marlene was frying bacon by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon, except for his face, which looked as much like a horse as Petunia's did: he had not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel—Marlene often said, to herself, that he looked like a pig in a wig.

Marlene put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Dakling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Marlene, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down her bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty…thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Marlene and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take her." She jerked her head in Marlene's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Marlene's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the cinema. Every year, Marlene was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Marlene hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made her look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Marlene as if she'd planned this. Marlene knew she ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when she reminded herself it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbies, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl."

The Dursleys often spoke about Marlene like this, as though she wasn't there—or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend—Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here," Marlene put in hopefully (she'd be able to watch what she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," said Marlene, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "…and leave her in the car…"

"That car's new, she's not sitting in it alone..."

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying—it had been years since he'd really cried—but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let her spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I…don't…want…her…t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "She always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Marlene a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang—"Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically—and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Marlene, who couldn't believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Marlene aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Marlene's, "I'm warning you now, girl—any funny business, anything at all—and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Marlene, "honestly…"

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe her. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Marlene and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Marlene coming back from the hairdresser's looking as though she hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut her hair so short she was almost bald except for her bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Marlene, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where she was already laughed at for her baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, she had gotten up to find her hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. She had been given a week in her cupboard for this, even though she had tried to explain that she couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force her into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over Marlene's head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Marlene. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Marlene wasn't punished.

On the other hand, she'd gotten in terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing her as usual when, as much to Marlene's surprise as anyone else's, there she was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Marlene's headmistress telling them Marlene had been climbing school buildings. But all she'd tried to do (as she shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of her cupboard) was jump behind the big rubbish bins outside the kitchen doors. Marlene supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Marlene, the council, Marlene, the bank, and Marlene were just a few of his favourite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"…roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Marlene, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Marlene, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

"I know they don't," said Marlene. "It was only a dream."

But she wished she hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than her asking questions, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even in a cartoon—they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and families crowded the zoo. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Marlene what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Marlene thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.

Marlene had the best morning she'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favourite hobby of hitting her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Marlene was allowed to finish the first.

Marlene felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crashing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can—but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Marlene moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself—no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

She glanced at a little sign next to the tank. "So you're a Boa Constrictor…I've read about you," she murmured.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Marlene's.

It winked.

Marlene stared. Then she looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. She looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Marlene a look that said quite plainly: "I get that all the time."

"I know," Marlene murmured through the glass, though she wasn't sure the snake could hear her. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Marlene asked.

The snake jabbed its tail toward the sign. Marlene peered at it, and nodded. "Brazil…was it nice there?" She frowned as she read the next line: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see—so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Marlene made both of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Marlene in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Marlene fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened—one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Marlene sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and starting running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past her, Marlene heard a low, hissing voice say, "Brazil, here I come…Thanksss, amigo."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. "But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Marlene had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Marlene at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Marlene was talking to it, weren't you, Marlene?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Marlene. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go—cupboard—stay—no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Marlene lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn't know what time it was and she couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

She'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn't remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained her memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Marlene had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know her. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to her once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Marlene furiously if she knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at her once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Marlene tried to get a closer look.

At school, Marlene had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Marlene Potter in her baggy old boys' clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang. She only had books: in between classes, and sometimes after school when she could manage, she slipped into the school library and read. Reading fascinated her, filled her imagination with soaring castles and fire-breathing dragons and space ships and all sorts of wonderful, fantastic things. She thought she might like to write a book of her own, one day…perhaps about a flying motorcycle, and a blinding green light.


	4. The Letters From No One

**CH 3: THE LETTERS FROM NO ONE  
**

* * *

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Marlene her longest-ever punishment. By the time she was allowed out of her cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Marlene was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favourite sport: Marlene Hunting.

This was why Marlene spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where she could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came she would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Marlene, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Marlene. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No thanks," said Marlene. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it—it might be sick." Then she ran, before Dudley could work out what she'd said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Marlene at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Marlene watch television and gave her a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Marlene didn't trust herself to speak. She thought two of her ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Marlene went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. She went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

"What's this?" she asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if she dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she said.

Marlene looked in the bowl again.

"Oh," she said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet." Then again, it is England, she thought.

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Marlene seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue, and was glad that she didn't have to wear a skirt (Aunt Petunia had forced her into one when they had to go to a wedding once, and it had been very restricting). She sat down at the table and tried not to think about how she was going to look on her first day at Stonewall High—like she was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Marlene's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Marlene get it."

"Get the mail, Marlene."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Marlene dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and—a letter for Marlene.

Marlene picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives—he wasn't a member of the library, so she'd never even gotten rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Ms. M. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp, which Marlene thought strange.

Turning the envelope over, her hand trembling, Marlene saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Marlene went back to the kitchen, still staring at her letter. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk…"

"Dad!" Dudley said suddenly. "Dad, Marlene's got something!"

Marlene was on the point of unfolding her letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of her hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" said Marlene, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the greyish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness—Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Marlene and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

"I want to read it," said Marly furiously, "as it's mine."

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Marlene didn't move.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" she shouted.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Marlene and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Marlene and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Marlene, her glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on her stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address—how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching—spying—might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write them back? Tell them we don't want—"

Marlene could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer…Yes, that's best…we won't do anything…"

"But—"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took her in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Marlene in her cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Marlene, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Marlene angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er—yes, Marlene—about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking…you're really getting a bit big for it, and you're bound to start growing soon…we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"What?" said Marlene. "Why? What about Dud—"

"Don't ask questions!" snapped her uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept al the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Marlene one trip upstairs to move everything she owned from the cupboard to this room. She sat down on the bed and stared around her. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbour's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favourite program had been cancelled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want her in there…I need that room…make her get out…"

Marlene sighed and picked out a random book, then stretched out on the bed and started to read it. Yesterday she'd have given anything to be up here. Today she'd rather be back in her cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Marlene was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing she'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Marlene, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'Ms. M. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive—"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Marlene right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Marlene had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Marlene's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard—I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Marlene. "Dudley—go—just go."

Marlene walked round and round her new room. Someone knew she had moved out of hr cupboard and they seemed to know she hadn't received her first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time she'd make sure they didn't fail. She had a plan.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Marlene turned it off quickly and dressed silently. She mustn't wake the Dursleys. She stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

She was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. Her heart hammered as she crept across the dark hall toward the front door—

"AAAAARRRGH!"

Marlene leapt into the air; she'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat—something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to her horror Marlene realized that the big, squashy something had been her uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Marlene didn't do exactly what she'd been trying to do. He shouted at Marlene for about half an hour and then told her to go and make a cup of tea. Marlene shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time she got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Marlene could see three letters addressed in green ink.

"I want—" she began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before her eyes.

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon,"

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Marlene. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Marlene found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Marlene in amazement.

"I don't know," she replied in frustration, "that's why I want to read it."

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today—"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys and Marlene ducked, and Marlene scrabbled on the floor, trying to grab one that had already landed—

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Marlene around the waist and threw her into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his moustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the back of his head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for awhile.

"Shake 'em off…shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Marlene shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Marlene stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, using the dim lights of passing cars to finally read the letter she'd managed to pick up…

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minevera McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Marlene's head like fireworks and her jaw dropped open. After a few minutes, she turned it over and saw a second piece of paper, which turned out to contain a list of books and supplies.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of the each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Marlene turned over the back of the first page and wrote a short letter on it to the Deputy Headmistress. If this wasn't a joke—if it was real—she hardly dared hope, but it would be a way out of the Dursleys that Stonewall High couldn't manage…and, after all, it should be real: how else could letters end up inside of eggs than by magic?

Dear Deputy Headmistress,

I managed to finally read one of the letters you've been sending me. I can hardly believe it, but if Hogwarts is a real place, then I should very much like to go! Only, I don't have an owl, and how am I supposed to get all these school supplies? I don't have any money, you see. Could I borrow them from the school and pay for them once I have a job?

(Marlene didn't want to be beholden to anyone; years of Uncle Vernon complaining about "people on the dole" had made sure of that.)

Please get back to me as soon as possible.

Signed,

Marlene Lily Potter

She folded it over, put it back in the envelope, and then crossed out her own name and wrote "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" instead. Hope this works…

Marlene crept down the stairs of the dinky little hotel and to the front desk, where a bored-looking blonde sat idly twirling a slender stick between her fingers.

"Hello," said Marlene quietly, "any chance this could go out in the post tomorrow?"

She offered the envelope to the blonde, who looked at it curiously before breaking into a smile.

"Ah, got your 'Ogwarts letter, 'ave you? Brill. But, aintcha 'ad a visit from Professor McGonagall? She's the one 'at delivered mine." The blond stuck the stick behind one ear like a pencil, took the letter and set it down on the desk, then extended her hand to shake Marlene's. She took a closer look and gasped. "Blimey—you're—I'm being chavvy, ain't I? I'm Donna…you ain't Marlene Potter, are you?"

Marlene, confused, shook the blonde's hand. "Er—yes, that's me, how'd you—?"

"Blimey," breathed Donna. She took Marlene's hand in both of hers and shook with reverence. "I'm shakin' Marlene Potter's hand."

Marlene, with a bit of difficulty, extracted her hand from Donna's and cleared her throat. "Er—my letter, you can get it into the post, then?"

"Oh—oh, yeh, just leave it t' me. I'll have it to 'Ogwarts in no time. I've got my own owl, ruddy princess at that, but I'll tell 'er not to take 'er sweet time…" Donna was still staring at Marlene in awe, which made her uncomfortable, then suddenly seemed to notice the time. "Oh blimey, it's near midnight, I'll just bang this on to 'Ogwarts, shall I? You go on up to your room."

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel—not Donna—came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Ms. M. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Ms. M. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Marlene, surprised that a reply would have come so quickly, made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked her hand out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley snivelled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday. This reminded Marlene of something. If it was Monday—and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television—then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Marlene's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun—last year, the Dursleys had given her a coat hanger and one pair of underwear that fit, probably from the donation bin. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was for certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forcast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shrivelled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Marlene privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer her up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few mouldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the filthy sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Marlene was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Marlene couldn't sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Marlene she'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. She lay and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the Deputy Headmistress was now.

Five minutes to go. Marlene heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she'd be able to steal one somehow, and see the Deputy Headmistress' reply to her letter.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and she'd be eleven. Thirty seconds…twenty…ten…nine—maybe she'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him—three…two…one…

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Marlene sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


	5. The Keeper of the Keys

**CH 4: THE KEEPER OF THE KEYS  
**

* * *

note: taking liberties with the release date of nanny mcphee (which I do not own)

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands—now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you—I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then—

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man stood in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling, revealing a tall, stern woman behind him. She had black hair pulled into a tight bun and emerald-green robes on, and Marlene's first thought was that she looked like Nanny McPhee, and was not someone to cross.

The giant bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame after the woman came in. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all, but the woman spoke first.

"Tea, Hagrid? It's not been an easy journey, after all." She spoke with a Scottish accent and Marlene gasped in surprise; she wouldn't have expected that from a woman who looked so much like…like a _witch_.

"Sounds good t' me, Professor," said the giant. He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump."

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

The Professor—_McGonagall_? Marlene wondered—produced a thin stick from her robes and twirled it; a platter with three steaming cups of tea appeared in mid-air, and she caught it, the stick disappearing again. "Ms. Potter…Marlene…this is for you," she said to Marlene, handing her one of the cups. Marlene accepted it without saying anything, still in shock.

"An' here's Marly!" said the giant.

Marlene looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, madam, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into the corner of the room. Somehow, after tea appearing from nowhere, it didn't seem very shocking, especially considering the size of the man.

"Remember our agreement, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," the Professor said sharply, and a crack of thunder punctuated her statement.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway—Marly," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here—I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll still taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Marlene opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Marly_ written on it in green icing.

Marlene looked up at the giant. She meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to her mouth, and what she said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled, and the stern Professor smiled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Marlene's whole arm.

The Professor snorted. "Hagrid—she's only a girl. Ms. Potter, I am Professor McGonagall—Deputy Headmistress for Hogwarts." Her eyes fell on the slightly squished cake box, and she smiled, amused. A twirl of the stick and the box popped up as if it had never been sat on.

"I will inform Dumbledore that we have reached Ms. Potter, Hagrid," said Professor McGonagall, turning toward the door. "I shall be back in a minute or two." A sharp crack—not quite like thunder—and she'd disappeared.

"Aw'right, Professor," he said, rubbing his hands together. "What about that tea then, eh? I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shrivelled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Marlene felt the warmth wash over her as though she'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don't worry."

He passed the sausages to Marlene, who was so hungry she had never tasted anything so wonderful, but she still couldn't take her eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, she said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts—yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Er—no," said Marlene.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Marlene said quickly.

"_Sorry_?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't getting' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Marlene.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this girl—this girl!—knows nothin' abou'—about ANYTHING?"

Marlene thought this was going a bit far. She had been to school, after all, and her marks weren't bad.

"I know _some_ things," she said. "I can, you know, do maths and stuff."

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About _our_ world, I mean. _Your _world. _My_ world. _Yer parents'_ _world_."

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Marlene.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're _famous_. You're _famous._"

"What? My—my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know…yeh don' know…" Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Marlene with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what yeh _are_?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"

Professor McGonagall appeared again with another crack, now wearing a thick cloak, and a braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look she gave him. When she spoke, her every syllable trembled with rage, and the stick rose in her hand to point directly at him.

"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left for him? Do you not remember our _agreement_?"

"You've kept it from 'er all these years?" Hagrid's fists were clenched, as if he were about to punch Uncle Vernon.

"Kept _what_ from me?" said Marlene eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid.

"Ms. Potter—Marly—" Professor McGonagall said, still pointing the stick at Uncle Vernon. "You are a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"I'm a _what_?" gasped Marlene.

"A witch, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

"Er—I've already read it," Marlene said sheepishly, pulling out the yellowish envelope from under her shirt, where she'd hidden it. "I sent a reply, a lady named Donna back at the hotel said she had an owl, but I don't know if it's gotten through…"

"Yes, I did receive your reply, Ms. Potter. Don't worry, all your concerns will be addressed." At this, she turned away from the Dursleys, her stick—a wand?—lowering. "I will take you to Diagon Alley myself later. Hagrid, will you accompany us?"

"Dumbledore asked me to run an errand for him, Professor," said Hagrid, nodding. "In Gringotts. Where was I?"

At that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"She's not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted. Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows, mouth tightening in displeasure.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," he said.

"A what?" said Marlene, interested.

"A Muggle," said Professor McGonagall, "is what we call nonmagical people—like the Dursleys."

"An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on," said Hagrid.

"We swore when we took her in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of her! Witch indeed!"

"You _knew_?" said Marlene. "You _knew_ I'm a—a witch?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "_Knew_! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that—that _school—_and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as—as—_abnormal_—and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Marlene had gone very white. As soon as she found her voice she said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

McGonagall's face darkened. "A car crash! A car crash, kill Lily and James Potter?"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid at the same time, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Marly Potter not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!"

"But why? What happened?" Marlene asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble getting' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Marly, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh—but someone's gotta—yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

Professor McGonagall, sorrow on her face, came and sat down on the sofa next to him, reaching up to pat his shoulder. "Hagrid—I shall tell her."

"Thank yeh, Professor," Hagrid said with relief.

Professor McGonagall stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with—with a person called—well, everyone in our world knows his name—"

"Who?"

"Well—_Voldemort_." Hagrid flinched and McGonagall shuddered when she said the name in a whisper. "We call him You-Know-Who, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…we don't like saying his name."

"Why not?"

"People are still scared, Ms. Potter. You-Know-Who, he was a wizard who went bad, as bad as you could go. Worse—worse than worse. This wizard, about twenty years ago now, started looking for followers. He called them Death Eaters. Some were afraid, some just wanted a bit of his power…because he was certainly getting himself power. Those were dark days, Marly. We didn't know who to trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange witches or wizards. Terrible things happened. He was taking over. Some stood up to him, of course—and he killed them. Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of, and he didn't dare try and take the school.

"Your mother and father were two of the best I ever knew—Head Boy and Girl at Hogwarts. I never understood why You-Know-Who didn't try to get them on his side before; possibly, he knew they were too close to Dumbledore—and myself—to want anything to do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade them; maybe he just wanted them out of his way. All we know is that he turned up in the village where you were all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You were just a year old—I attended your birthday party, you know, and you had chocolate cake then, too. He came to your house and—"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn, interrupting McGonagall.

"Sorry," he said "But it's that sad—knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find—anyway…sorry, go ahead, Professor."

McGonagall coughed a bit before continuing. "You-Know-Who killed them. And then he tried to kill you too. But that's the real mystery: he couldn't do it. That scar on your forehead, that was no ordinary cut. That's what happens when a powerful, evil curse touches you. He killed your parents—blew up your house, even—but it didn't work on you, and _that's_ why you're famous, Marly. No one lived ever he decided to kill them, except for you. He'd killed some of the best witches and wizards of the age—the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts—but you wre only a baby, and you lived."

Something very painful was going on in Marlene's mind. As Professor McGonagall's story came to a close, she saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than she had ever remembered it before—and she remembered something else, for the first time in her life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid and Professor McGonagall were both watching him sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders," said Hagrid. "Brought yeh ter this lot…"

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Marlene jumped; she had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, girl," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured—and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion—asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types—just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end—"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley—I'm warning you—one more word…"

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa which this time sagged right down to the floor. Professor McGonagall gave him a severe look.

"Careful, Hagrid. I will take care of them after Ms. Potter's questions are all answered." The menacing way in which she said 'take care of them' made the Dursleys shrink back even further; Aunt Petunia let out a little shriek.

Marlene, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry—I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Ms. Potter," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "He disappeared. Vanished. The same night he tried to kill you."

"Makes yeh even more famous," added Hagrid. "That's the biggest myst'ry, see…he was gettin' more an' more powerful—why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back."

"Most of us think he's still out there somewhere, without his powers, too weak to carry on," McGonagall picked up the story. "Something about you, Miz—Marlene—something about you finished him. Something happened that night that he hadn't counted on. Quite frankly, I have no idea what it was."

Hagrid and McGonagall looked at Marlene with warmth and respect blazing in their eyes, but Marlene, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A witch? Her? How could she possibly be? She'd spent her life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if she really was a witch, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock her in her cupboard? If she'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick her around like a football?

"Professor McGonagall…Hagrid…" she said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a witch."

To her surprise, both of them chuckled.

"Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?" said Hagrid.

Marlene looked into the fire. Now she came to think about it…every odd thing that had ever made her aunt and uncle furious with her had happened when she, Marlene, had been upset or angry…chased by Dudley's gang, she had somehow found herself out of their reach…dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, she'd managed to make it grow back…and the very last time Dudley had hit her, hadn't she got her revenge, without even realizing she was doing it? Hadn't she set a boa constrictor on him?

Marlene looked back at them, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at her.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Marly Potter, not a witch—you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

"I assure you, Marly, you are definitely a witch," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "Your name has been down for Hogwarts since you were born—of course you are a witch."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you she's not going?" he hissed. "She's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish—spell books and wands and—"

"If she wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop her," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Like the Professor said—her name's been down ever since she was born! She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she won't know herself. She'll be with youngsters of her own sort, fer a change, an' she'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled—"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER—" he thundered, "—INSULT—ALBUS—DUMBLEDORE—IN—FRONT—OF—ME!"

Professor McGonagall stopped him right before he brought the umbrella swishing down, drawing her wand in a sharp movement. "Let me take care of this, Hagrid." She flicked her wand—there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with one hand over his fat bottom and the other on his face, howling and—oinking?—in pain. When he turned his back on them, Marlene saw that a curly pig's tail poked through a hole in his trousers, matching the pig snout on his face.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and Professor McGonagall and slammed the door behind them.

Marlene's jaw dropped. "That—was—incredible! Will I learn to do that?"

"Yes, Marlene," said Professor McGonagall. "That was a bit of human-to-animal transfiguration—you will begin learning that in your sixth year, if you are in NEWT Transfiguration, which is a class that I teach. I meant to turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway that there wasn't much left to do."

She cast a sideways look at Marlene under arched eyebrows.

"Thank yeh for stoppin' me, Professor," said Hagrid sheepishly. "Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts, Marly—I'm—er—not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'."

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Marlene.

"Oh, well—I was at Hogwarts meself but I—er—got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

Professor McGonagall snorted. "And a great improvement you are on the _previous_ gamekeeper, Hagrid."

"Oh, aye, Ogg weren't the best at his job, but he weren't too bad, Professor," Hagrid chuckled. "He's a bit like Kettleburn, eh?"

"Why were you expelled?" asked Marlene.

"It's gettin' late and we've lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his thick black coat and seemed about to throw it to her when Professor McGonagall spoke, shaking her head.

"No, no—this shack won't do at all. I'll get her to the Leaky Cauldron, Hagrid, will you meet us there tomorrow? I don't believe I will be able to Apparate with both of you."

Marlene felt relieved that she wouldn't be finishing out the night in the little hut, but wondered what Apparation was, and where the Leaky Cauldron was.

"All right, sounds good ter me, Professor," said Hagrid, and shrugged his giant black coat on again.

"Please inform the Dursleys when you leave that—if they behave themselves, and promise to _keep_ our agreement—that I shall turn the young Mr. Dursley back into himself when I return with Ms. Potter." Professor McGonagall stood and her wand disappeared up her sleeve again, then she offered one arm to Marlene. "Please take my arm, Ms. Potter, and hold on tightly."


	6. Diagon Alley

**CH 5: DIAGON ALLEY**

* * *

Marlene took hold of Professor McGonagall's arm as Hagrid settled on the sofa.

"Don't let go," said Professor McGonagall. Marlene felt Professor McGonagall's arm twist away from her and re-doubled his grip: the next thing she knew everything went black; she was pressed very hard from all directions; she could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around her chest; her eyeballs were being forced back into her head; her ear-drums were being pushed deeper into her skull. Then they popped with a crack out of what had felt like a very tight rubber tube into the shadows between two buildings on a brightly-lit street. The trip had made her nauseated and dizzy, and it took a moment for Marlene to register, astonished, that they were now in the middle of London. On Tottenham Court Road, even!

"How—what—" she started, then stopped again.

"That, Ms. Potter, was Apparation. You will be able to learn it in your sixth year of Hogwarts, if you so choose—and you will be able to apply for a license when you come of age on your seventeenth birthday." Professor McGonagall produced a small phial filled with a cloudy liquid and offered it to Marlene. "Anti-Nausea Potion, Ms. Potter, is highly recommended for first-time Apparationers, especially those as young as yourself. You will get used to the sensation in time."

Marlene accepted the small phial with shaky fingers, pulled out the cork, and gulped it down. Almost instantly, her stomach settled, and her head began to clear. "Was—was that Apparation? Did we _teleport_?" If so—the wizarding world was _awesome_. Was this the magic she'd performed unintentionally before, when she'd somehow gotten onto the school's kitchen chimney?

"Yes, and quite successfully too, I might add. Most people vomit the first time." Professor McGonagall took the phial back (it disappeared again, and Marlene couldn't tell where to) and started out onto the street, in the direction of Charing Cross Road.

Marlene hastened to keep up. "Er—I might have done it before, accidentally. Dudley was chasing me, and I wanted to get away, all I was trying to do was jump behind the rubbish bins, and somehow I got on the roof of the school…right on top of the kitchen chimney…"

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "Indeed, Ms. Potter, that was Apparation, very strong accidental magic—I've never heard of another child doing such a thing, although, perhaps, they never had such need to."

"Where are we going, Professor? Why are we in London?" Marlene asked. "Er—could you call me Marlene? Ms. Potter sounds like I'm in trouble…"

"We are going to the Leaky Cauldron, Miz—oh, very well, _Marly_. It is the entrance to Diagon Alley from the Muggle world, and you should know how to get here for future reference."

"Why do you call me Marly, Professor? No one's ever called me that before," said Marlene. She'd always been just Marlene Lily Potter, foisted on the Dursleys, who took her in out of the kindness of their hearts—she'd never had a nickname other than 'girl.'

"Why, that's what your parents called you, Marly," said Professor McGonagall. "And myself, and Hagrid, and almost everyone who knew you when you were a baby."

"Oh," said Marlene, and imagined a pair of people, a man with her face and a woman with her eyes, holding her and calling her 'Marly.' A warmth grew deep inside her and she smiled to herself. _My parents called me Marly._ _That's what I'll go by at Hogwarts, then_, she decided, for just plain Marlene didn't seem right, when her parents had called her Marly.

There was not much of a crowd, so the two of them easily made it to Charing Cross. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people and ordinary stores. Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys cooked up? If Marlene hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humour, she might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything McGonagall had told her so far was unbelievable, Marly couldn't help trusting her.

"This is it," said Professor McGonagall, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place, founded in 1500 by Daisy Dodderidge to serve as a gateway between the non-wizarding world and Diagon Alley. It rents rooms, has several private parlour rooms and a bar—which _you _are not _nearly_ old enough for—and a large dining room. This, Marly, is where we'll be spending the night."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Professor McGonagall hadn't pointed it out, Marly wouldn't have noticed it was there. The few people hurrying by at this time of night didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Marly had the most peculiar feeling that only she and Professor McGonagall could see it. Before she could mention this, the Deputy Headmistress had steered her inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A single old woman sat in a corner, drinking a tiny glass of sherry and smoking a long pipe. A little man with round glasses similar to Marly's—except that they were in far better condition—and neatly groomed hair was sitting on a barstool and talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The two men looked up when they walked in. They seemed to know Professor McGonagall; they waved and smiled at her, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Professor?"

"Sorry, Tom—just need a room for the night, for myself and my ward for the next few days. Don't overwhelm her," Professor McGonagall said sharply, when they both looked interestedly at Marly, "she only just found out this very night that she's a witch."

"Hope to see you in my House," said the little man in a squeaky voice, smiling good-naturedly at her. "Ravenclaw, you know. For the quick-witted. Nice to see you, Minerva, I thought you were finished with Muggleborn introductions?"

"She's no Muggleborn, Filius," said Professor McGonagall. "This is Marlene Potter. Marly, this is Tom, the landlord, and Professor Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw House. He teaches Charms."

Professor Flitwick squeaked and fell off his stool. "Oh my! _Marlene Potter_!" It didn't seem to embarrass him that he'd fallen over; he stood and clambered back on without a blush.

"Good Lord," said Tom, peering at Marlene. "Bless my soul…Marlene Potter…what an honour."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Marly and seized her hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Ms. Potter, welcome back."

Marlene didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at her. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. McGonagall frowned.

"I said _don't_ overwhelm her," she said sharply, and placed a firm hand on Marly's shoulder. "Our _room_, Tom, if you please."

"Of course, of course. Just for one night, then? Do you want dinner as well?" Tom went back behind the bar and picked through keys hanging on a wall until he found one labelled '12.' "It'll be three sickles, four knuts for just the room, five sickles if you want a meal with it."

Professor McGonagall produced a small moneypouch and took out five funny-looking silver coins and handed them over the bar to Tom. "We'll take the room, and breakfast in the morning—could you have it brought up? I don't want the morning rush to see Ms. Potter, they'll stampede."

"All right," said Tom, and handed her the key. "Here's your room, then—number 12. There's two beds in there."

Their room was on the first floor, and it had two beds, a fireplace on the opposite wall, a window with gauzy curtains, and a small loo closed off by a door in the corner. The bedcovers and the curtains were all covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. Professor McGonagall pointed her wand at the fireplace and lit a fire by saying "Incendio," then motioned to the beds.

"Take a bed, Marly, and go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow." She moved to a coat-rack near the door and hung her cloak on it.

Marly sat on the bed closest to the window and had barely laid down before her lack of sleep caught up to her, and she went out like a light.

Marly woke early the next morning. Although she could tell it was daylight, she kept her eyes shut tight.

"It was a dream," she told herself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called Hagrid and a witch called Professor McGonagall came to tell me I was going to a school for magic. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard."

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

_And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door_, Marly thought, her heart sinking. But she still didn't open her eyes. It had been such a good dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Marly mumbled, "I'm getting up."

She sat up and blankets covered in glow-in-the-dark stars fell off her. The room was full of sunlight, Professor McGonagall was still asleep on the other bed with her long hair spread out on the pillow, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Marly scrambled to her feet, so happy she felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside her. She went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Professor McGonagall, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered to the coat-rack and began to attack her cloak.

"Don't do that."

Marly tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at her and carried on savaging the cloak.

"Professor McGonagall!" said Marly loudly. "There's an owl—"

"Pay her," Professor McGonagall said sleepily, slowly sitting up.

"What?"

"He wants to be paid for delivering the paper. Look in the bottom right-hand pocket of my cloak, if you please, my money-pouch should be there."

Professor McGonagall's cloak had three pockets, so it wasn't hard to see which one she meant. It was full of things—the empty phial, a packet of letters tied together with a red ribbon (Marly could make out the name "Mme. Amelia Bones" on the top one, and wondered who that was), teabags…finally, Marly pulled out the money-pouch full of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts—the little bronze ones," Professor McGonagall said anticipating Marly's question.

Marly counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg so Marly could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.

"Thank you, Marly." Professor McGonagall stretched, looking remarkably like a cat, and stood up. "Why don't you get ready, we have a lot to do today, we must go through Diagon Alley and purchase all your school things—as well as some proper clothes," she said, eyeing Marly's poorly-fitting ones.

Marly flushed. She was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. She had just thought of something that made her feel as though the happy balloon inside her had been punctured.

"Um—Professor?"

"Yes?" said the Professor, who was flicking her wand at her hair, which pulled itself back into a tight bun.

"I haven't got any money—and you heard Uncle Vernon last night…he won't pay for me to go and learn magic."

"Oh, don't worry about _that_, Marly," said Professor McGonagall, smiling at her. "Do you think your parents didn't leave you anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed—"

"They didn't keep their gold in the house, girl! No. The first stop for us will be Gringotts, the wizarding bank, right after breakfast."

"Wizards have _banks_?" Marly went into the loo and brushed her teeth with the small brush and paste sitting on the counter.

"Just the one—Gringotts, run by goblins. You'd be mad to try to rob it."

Marly nearly dropped the toothbrush. "_Goblins_?"

"Oh, yes. Never mess with goblins, Marly. Gringotts is the safest place in the world for anything you need kept safe—except maybe Hogwarts."

There was a knock on the door, and Marly used the toilet while listening to the muffled voices of Professor McGonagall and another woman. She came out to see a tray with two full English breakfasts on it, as well as a cup of tea and a glass of a steaming amber liquid.

"Have some breakfast, Marly—the butterbeer's yours, I'm sure you haven't had it before but it's good hot or cold." Professor McGonagall sipped at her tea while Marly tried a bit of butterbeer. Her eyes widened, and she took a bigger swallow.

"Mm—that's the best drink I've ever had," Marly exclaimed. She took another gulp and then started in on breakfast, which she only managed to eat half of. "So why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?"

"Spells—enchantments," said Professor McGonagall, unfolding her newspaper as she spoke. "They say there's dragons guarding the high-security vaults. I've never seen one myself, but then, my vault is not of the highest security. And then you'd have to find your way—Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, deep under the Underground. You'd die of thirst trying to get out, even if you managed to get your hands on something."

Marly sat on her bed and thought about this while Professor McGonagall ate and read her newspaper, the _Daily Prophet_. Marly had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, she'd never had so many questions in her life.

"Ministry of Magic messing things up, as usual," Professor McGonagall muttered, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Marly asked, before she could stop herself.

"Of course there is, and Cornelius Fudge is the Minister."

"What does a Ministry of Magic _do_?"

"What does any government _do_?" Professor McGonagall asked rhetorically, then cleared her throat. "Their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches and wizards in the country."

"Why?"

"Because, Marly," Professor McGonagall peered at her over the top of her newspaper, "how did you feel when you realized magic was real? You wanted it to help you. Well, that's what everyone would want, they'd want magic solutions. And anyone who didn't, would want to hunt us down and kill us all. It nearly happened once before—and then the Statute of Secrecy was enacted and the wizarding world faded into the shadows of the Muggle world."

"The Statute of Secrecy?"

"You'll learn more about it in History of Magic—it was first signed in 1689, but established officially in 1692. It was enacted by the International Confederation of Wizards, sort of like the United Nations of the Muggle world, to safeguard the wizarding community and hide its presence from the world at large."

"Oh." Marly thought about this, then remembered something she'd desperately wanted to ask earlier: "You said there's _dragons_ in Gringotts?"

"Yes, so they say," said Professor McGonagall. "Don't mention that to Hagrid—he wants one."

"He _wants_ one?" An image came to her mind, of Hagrid leading around a giant lizard with wings which breathed fire, and laughing about it. "I can see why you don't want me to tell him."

"Indeed. Still have your letter, Marly?" Professor McGonagall asked as she finished up her eggs.

Marly took the parchment envelope out of her pocket.

"Good," said Professor McGonagall. "There's a list there of everything you need."

Marly pulled out the supply list and nodded. "I've looked at it before…can we buy all this in London?"

"In Diagon Alley," said Professor McGonagall. "Are you ready to leave, Ms. Potter?"

Marly nodded, sliding off the bed. "Let's go! I want to see _everything_!"

Professor McGonagall chuckled. "Well, let's not go _that_ far, Ms. Potter. There are plenty of interesting things in Diagon Alley, no need to explore the entire world just yet."

Marly flushed but nodded. "And the first stop…Gringotts!" She wondered to herself if her parents had left her anything besides money in the vault. Maybe some pictures? She'd never seen a picture of them before, after all.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand at her cloak and it shrank to Marly's size. "Here, Ms. Potter—wear this, with the hood up, so the morning rush doesn't mob you."

The cloak was comfortable and not too warm, even with the hood up. Marly followed Professor McGonagall downstairs, both of them carrying some dishes, which they left with a woman on the bar. "Nice to see yeh again, Perfessor," said the woman.

"You, too, Florence. Can't stay and chat—on Hogwarts business this morning." Professor McGonagall swept past and out the bar into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Professor McGonagall withdrew her wand. "Pay attention, Ms. Potter—you'll likely be doing this yourself, in the future." She tapped three times at a brick "three up and two across" in the wall above the rubbish bin. "Stand back."

The brick she had touched quivered—it wriggled—in the middle, a small hole appeared—it grew wider and wider—a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Professor McGonagall, "to Diagon Alley."

She smiled at Marly's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Marly looked quickly over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons—All Sizes—Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver—Self-Stirring—Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yes, you'll be needing one of those," said Professor McGonagall, "but we must get your money first."

Marly wished she had about eight more eyes. She turned her head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman with bright red hair outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium—Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys about Marly's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Marly heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand—fastest ever—" there were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Marly had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…

"Gringotts," said Professor McGonagall.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was—what could only be a goblin. The goblin was about a head shorter than Marly. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard, and, Marly noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of green,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"Like I said—you'd be mad to try and rob it," said Professor McGonagall.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Professor McGonagall and Marly made for the counter.

"Good morning," said Professor McGonagall to a free goblin. "We've come to get some money for Ms. Potter out of her vault."

"You have her key, ma'am?"

"Yes, right here," said Professor McGonagall, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"Oh—also—watch out for Hagrid later, he'll be by to withdraw that item from vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin nodded. "Thank you for the warning. I will have someone take you down to Ms. Potter's vault—Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Professor McGonagall and Marly followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the item in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Marly asked.

"I can't tell you that, Ms. Potter," said Professor McGonagall mysteriously. "It's Hogwarts business, and Dumbledore does not want anyone knowing who does not have to."

Griphook held the door open for them. Marly, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor—_like a rollercoaster_, Marly thought. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Marly tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Marly's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but she kept them wide open. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late—they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"I never knew," Marly called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmites grow out of the floor," said Professor McGonagall, "and stalagtites hold 'tight' to the ceiling."

She looked very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage way, Professor McGonagall got out and had to lean against the wall to stop her knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door with Marly's vault key. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Marly gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours, Ms. Potter. Here—a birthday present from me, a mokeskin pouch, which is enchanted so that only the person who puts something inside it can take it back out again." Professor McGonagall smiled at Marly, handing her a soft brown drawstring pouch. "The drawstring is long enough that you can carry it around your neck, as long as you are careful not to choke yourself with it—well, as with any necklace, I suppose."

"You didn't have to, Professor!" She turned red, taking the bag. "I've never worn a necklace before. I'll have to take your word for it." She'd always wondered why people would want to wear something around their neck—it would be really easy to choke if you did. Dudley would take full advantage, she was sure.

All Marly's—it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from her faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Marly cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to her, buried deep under London.

Professor McGonagall set a limit for her as she piled some into the bag—"No more than one hundred and fifteen Galleons, Ms. Potter, this must last you all throughout your school years. Take twenty Sickles to buy treats on the train ride to and from Hogwarts."

"Can I take a bit more to change to Muggle money, so I can buy myself some decent clothes in London?" asked Marly.

"That's what I was intending to do with the extra fifteen Galleons—normally I'd suggest only a hundred. The gold ones are Galleons," she explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough."

Marly counted out twenty silver Sickles to add to the hundred-and-fifteen Galleons in the pouch, then took five Knuts as well, just for luck.

Professor McGonagall turned to Griphook. "Back to the surface now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the bright light of Gringotts. They had to wait in line again to have Marly's extra Galleons turned into pounds, which took another half-hour. Marly wasn't sure of the exchange rate, since the goblins took some percentage of the money as a fee for exchanging it, but she ended up with one hundred and twenty pounds—more than enough to get her new clothes, as well as a couple good pairs of shoes, in London, and perhaps a _nice_ haircut rather than the scraggly one left over from when Aunt Petunia had cut it. She didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that she was holding more money than she'd had in her whole life—more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Let's get your uniform first," said Professor McGonagall, starting towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Ms. Potter, would you mind if I slipped off for a drink in the Leaky Cauldron? I rather dislike those carts of Gringotts." She did still look a bit sick, so Marly entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Marly started to speak. "Got the lot here."

In the back of a shop, there were several footstools, all empty. Madam Malkin stood Marly on one of them, slipped a long robe over her head, and began to pin it to the right length. "Just for Hogwarts, dear, or would you like everyday robes as well?"

"Er—Hogwarts robes, and maybe one for everyday wear, too," said Marly. Robes seemed very much like dresses to her, and she hated wearing dresses, or maybe that was just because Aunt Petunia had horrible taste. Perhaps she'd get used to it in time.

"Any formal robes?"

"No, no, just plain ones," said Marly, wondering what the difference was, and if she'd need any. The supply list hadn't said.

"All right, then. What style would you like, for your everyday robes?"

"Er—what would you suggest?" Marly went with the style Madam Malkin suggested, which seemed to be similar to a kimono, which she'd seen in a book once. Madam Malkin whipped the first robe off her and pulled a second one over her head.

A boy with a pale, pointed face entered the shop and was directed to the back by a second witch, who put him on a stool next to Marly and began to pin up his long, black robes.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Marly."

"My name's Draco, Draco Malfoy—you?" He had a bored, drawling voice.

"Er—" Marly cast a sideways glance at Draco, who looked both bored and expectant. "Marly."

"Your _family_ name," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "Oh, dear Merlin—you aren't one of those—your parents are _magical_, aren't they?"

"Yes," said Marly, "not that it matters, they're dead."

"Oh, sorry." He didn't sound sorry at all. "_My_ father's next door buying my books, and my mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Marly was strongly reminded of Dudley.

"Have _you_ got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Marly. "No point, when they're not allowed for first years. I might get one next year."

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Marly said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be. "I'm hoping to learn, though. My—guardians, never let me."

"_I_ do—Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Marly, feeling more stupid by the minute. Then she remembered Professor Flitwick—"Maybe Ravenclaw, Professor Flitwick said he hopes to see me there."

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Well, _someone_ has to be in Hufflepuff," Marly pointed out, wishing she could say something a bit more interesting.

"I suppose you're right. I say, look at that man!" said Draco suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Marly and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Marly, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said Draco, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Marly. She was liking the boy less and less every second.

"Ms. Potter, are you finished yet?" said Professor McGonagall, entering the shop. "Hagrid's here—wants to give you some ice cream, I think, before he goes to Gringotts."

"Potter! You're _Marlene Potter_," gasped Draco Malfoy, spinning to look at her. He yelped as the shop assistant poked him with a pin and prodded him back into place. "Why didn't you _say_ so?"

"That's _exactly_ why," Marly said under her breath. "I don't want the attention on me."

"That's you done, my dear," said Madam Malkin, and Marly, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well—I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said Draco.

Marly was rather quiet as she ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought her (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Marly lied. They sat at one of the outside tables of Florean Fortescue's, the same parlour where Hagrid had bought their ice cream. She took another lick, paused, and said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Marly, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know—not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Marly. He told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin's.

"—and he said his name was Draco Malfoy—"

"He's a _Malfoy_, Marly, and they're not teh be trusted. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles—look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"

"So what _is_ Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like—like football in the Muggle world—everyone follows Quidditch—played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls—sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw?"

"School Houses. There's four, yer just missin' Gryffindor. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but—"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Marly gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Marly darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol-, sorry—You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid. They finished their ice cream and Hagrid left for Gringotts. "I'll come by an' give yeh yer birthday present later, Marly, but fer now, I've got ter go."

Professor McGonagall took her to a shop where they bought parchment, quills, and ink—Marly cheered up when she found a bottle of ink that changed colour as you wrote, but asked, "Professor, can I get a fountain pen instead of quills? I have no idea how to write with quills, and fountain pens are similar, I think, except they keep the ink _in_ them instead of having to dip them in ink to write."

Professor McGonagall considered it. "I don't see why not, but you'd best get a few quills and learn how to write with them, anyways. I don't think you'll be able to get replacement ink for fountain pens while you're at Hogwarts."

Marly grinned. "Great!" In primary school, she'd had a penmanship class for two years, and had learned to write fancy with a fountain pen. But quills—quills hadn't been used for _years_ and _years_.

Next they went to a shop called Flourish and Blotts, where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Professor McGonagall almost had to drag Marly away from _Curses and Counter-curses _(_Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More_) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley." But she went willingly to the next section of books, which held stories—_The Tales of Beedle the Bard_, _Fairy Tails_, _The Toadstool Tales_, and more.

"I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it, if anyone does—but you're not to use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Professor McGonagall. "And besides, you need to learn a lot more of the basics before you can get to that level."

In the next store they looked at telescopes, scales and cauldrons—Professor McGonagall wouldn't let her buy a solid gold cauldron, cautioning that gold cauldrons were only used in very specific potions and she'd need a pewter cauldron (perhaps two in case one melted) for first-year potions. They got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients, but when Professor McGonagall pointed out a collapsible brass telescope, Marly remembered that Dudley had a telescope he'd never used somewhere in the mess in her bedroom back on Privet Drive—and it wasn't electronic, so it would work in Hogwarts.

Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Professor McGonagall asked the man behind the counter for the special potions kit someone named Professor Snape recommended, Marly herself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and miniscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Professor McGonagall went through the list in her head. "Just your wand left, Ms. Potter, but you'd better get a trunk and a bag to carry your schoolbooks around with, as well, and we'll see about getting you an animal."

Marly nodded. "I can get a bookbag in the Muggle world for cheaper, probably," she said, but Professor McGonagall shook her head.

"There are ones here that have been charmed," she said, "and they'll last you all seven years at Hogwarts. You'd just have to buy another Muggle bookbag next summer."

"All right."

"To Ollivanders then—only place for wands, Ollivanders, and you've got to have the best wand."

A magic wand…this was what Marly had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Maker of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Professor McGonagall sat on to wait. Marly felt strangely as though she had entered a very strict library; she swallowed a lot of new questions and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Marly jumped. Professor McGonagall did not move.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Marly awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Marlene Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in her herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Marly. Marly wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for Transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, or witch, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Marly were almost nose to nose. Marly could see herself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where…"

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Marly's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

He shook his head and then, to Marly's relief, spotted Professor McGonagall.

"Minerva! Minerva McGonagall! How nice to see you again…just in here the other day with Ms. Granger, weren't you? Of course, your wand was made by my predecessor, one of the first I ever sold…twelve inches, mahogany and unicorn hair, isn't it? Quite springy, as I recall…good for Transfiguration…"

"Indeed," said Professor McGonagall.

"Well, now—Ms. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er—well, I'm right-handed," said Marly.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Marly from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Ms. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another witch or wizard's wand."

Marly suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Marly took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—"

Marly tried—but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by the wand-maker.

"No, no—here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Marly tried. And tried. She had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Marly took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Professor McGonagall smiled and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…"

He put Marly's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious…curious…"

"Sorry," said Marly, "but _what's_ curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Marly with her pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Ms. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother—why, its brother gave you that scar."

Marly swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the witch, remember…I think we must expect great things from you, Ms. Potter…After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great."

Marly shivered. She wasn't sure she liked Mr. Ollivander too much. She paid seven gold Galleons for her wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

"I suggest you do not tell anyone about that connection with You-Know-Who, Ms. Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "Such things are regarded with high superstition in this world."

They entered a shop with a sign above it that said Magical Luggage—For Wherever Your Travels Take You! Trunks, Bags, and Pouches! Schoolbags Fifty Percent Off Before September 1st!

There were a great many trunks inside the cluttered shop, but Marly was instantly drawn to one made of ebony, with faded bronze fastenings and nameplate. The nameplate was engraved with "Imagination is the eye of the soul. (Joseph Joubert)" and a sign next to it listed its attributes: Light-Weight Charm! Expanded hidden compartment inside! (ask shopkeeper for details)! Leash Attached—Activate it and it will follow you around!

It was marked about ten percent lower than the other enchanted trunks because it had been used before, but it was still thirteen Galleons and fifteen Sickles, almost twice the price of her wand. She had a good deal of money left, but this would put a sizeable dent in it.

"That trunk looks familiar," said Professor McGonagall, frowning, "but I could not say where I've seen it before…"

"I'd like to get this one," said Marly, "but I need a bag too, and those are three Galleons apiece, as well…"

"Oh, don't worry, Miss!" piped up the salesgirl, who had followed them into the depths of the shop, "there's a sale on! Buy a pair—an enchanted trunk and bag—for fifteen Galleons, and we'll throw in a year's warranty!"

"Oh, alright, then," said Marly. "I'll take that deal. This trunk, and that bag," she pointed out a plain black bookbag, which advertised Space Expansion Charm! and Light-Weight Charm!

"Great choice, Miss," the salesgirl said approvingly. "That'll be fifteen Galleons."

"Hullo, Marly, Professor," said Hagrid, coming up behind them. "I'm done my business with Gringotts—getting yer trunk, are yeh, Marly? Oh, I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Marly felt herself go red.

"You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion yers ago, yeh'd be laughed at—an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Professor McGonagall. "I'll put all your things in your trunk, Marly, go with Hagrid, I'll meet you back at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Marly now carried a large perch in one hand and a large cage in the other. It held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. She couldn't stop stammering her thanks.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. He was carrying a large bag of owl treats. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys."

They made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, and met Professor McGonagall in the Leaky Cauldron. "Ready, Ms. Potter? I've already ordered lunch for us all—your usual, Hagrid, and the house special for the two of us."

A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry, and what looked to be the same woman from last night was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to Tom, the old bartender. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know both Hagrid and Professor McGonagall; they waved and smiled, and Tom reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm with Professor McGonagall and Marly here," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Marly's shoulder and making her knees buckle. She nearly lost hold of the cage.

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. Marly didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at her, and Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Marly found herself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Ms. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Ms. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand—I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Ms. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Marly, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop—got me in trouble with my aunt."

"Oh, dear, sorry about that," said Dedalus Diggle anxiously, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? She remembers me!"

Marly shook hands again and again—Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching

"Professor Quirrell, good to see you," said Professor McGonagall. "Have you recovered yet?"

"He'll be one of your teachers at Hogwarts," Hagrid said to Marly.

"Q-q-quite, M-M-Minerva. P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Marly's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You've g-gotten all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Marly to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Professor McGonagall made herself heard over the babble.

"Quiet!" she said sharply. "Doris—that's quite enough. We must be getting on."

Doris Crockford shook Marly's hand one last time, and Professor McGonagall led them through the bar and into a private room with a table and several comfortable-looking chairs. Tom hurried after them and placed three plates heaped with food on the table, followed by a serving girl who gave Marly a tankard of butterbeer, Hagrid a glass of a frothy root-beer-coloured drink, and Professor McGonagall a cup of tea.

Hagrid grinned at Marly.

"Told yeh, didn't we? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' to meet yeh—mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous?"

"He didn't use to be this nervous," said Professor McGonagall. "Poor man. Brilliant mind. He was fine when he was just studying out of books—he used to teach Muggle Studies, which is an elective you may choose to take starting your third year, Marly—but then he took a year off to get some firsthand experience."

"They say he met vampires in the Black Forest," added Hagrid, "and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag—never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject."

Vampires? Hags? Marly's head was swimming.

"Eat up, Ms. Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "You've got a long afternoon ahead of you—first there's the Muggle shopping you wanted to do, and then I'll be sending you home by train."

"You all right, Marly? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid, after they'd mostly finished.

Marly wasn't sure she could explain. She'd just had the best birthday of her life—and yet—she took a bite of her vinegary fish and chips and chewed, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," she said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander…but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry—I mean, the night my parents died."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Marly. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts—I did—still do, 'smatter of fact."

"There are plenty of Muggleborns who know just as much as you do, Marly," said Professor McGonagall. "But if you need anything—even if I'm not your Head of House, you can come to me anytime and I will help you."

Marly nodded. "Thanks."

When they finished, Hagrid went off to Hogwarts and Professor McGonagall guided Marly to a shopping centre in Muggle London, where they spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for nice-fitting clothes and some good shoes, and Marly bought a nice fountain pen and plenty of ink for it.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Marly and Professor McGonagall made their way through London to the train station. Marly didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; she didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with her fancy trunk and backpack, with the snowy owl itself asleep in its cage on Marly's lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Marly only realized where they were when Professor McGonagall tapped her on the shoulder.

"I suppose we have time for a bit of a snack before your train leaves," she said.

She bought Marly a bag of crisps and a bottle of Irn-Bru, which she'd only had once before and liked almost as much as butterbeer, and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Marly kept looking around. Everything seemed so strange, somehow.

"Something the matter, Marly?"

"It doesn't seem _real_," she said, trying to explain. "I keep thinking that this is all a dream I'll be waking up from in the morning…"

Professor McGonagall smiled gently at her. "Don't worry, Marly, this is certainly not a dream. Here—to prove it—here's your train ticket, to get to Hogwarts on the first of September. King's Cross station… " She handed Marly an envelope.

"This says Platform Nine and Three-Quarters," Marly said, opening the envelope and pulling out the golden ticket within. "Aren't they all whole numbers?"

"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten. The barrier between platforms nine and ten—that's where you go. Go right through the barrier, Marly, sometimes it's better to take it at a bit of a run if you're not sure, and that will get you through to the Hogwarts Express." Professor McGonagall helped Marly onto the train that would take her back to the Dursleys. "See you soon, Marly. Oh—before I forget—tell the Dursleys that Dudley will turn back to normal if they take you to King's Cross. If there's any trouble—send me a letter with your new owl, she'll know where to find me."

The train pulled out of the station. Marly wanted to watch Professor McGonagall until she was out of sight; she rose in her seat and pressed her nose against the window, but she blinked and Professor McGonagall had gone.


	7. Journey From Platform 9 and 3 Quarters

**CH 6: THE JOURNEY FROM PLATFORM NINE AND THREE-QUARTERS  
**

* * *

Marly's last month with the Dursleys wasn't fun. True, Dudley was now so scared of her he wouldn't stay in the same room, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't shut Marly in her cupboard, force her to do anything, or shout at her—in fact, they didn't speak to her at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with Marly in it were empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

Marly kept to her room, with her new owl for company. She had decided to call the owl Hedwig, after a warrior witch-queen she'd read about in _A History of Magic_. Her school books were very interesting. She lay on her bed reading late into the night, Hedwig swooping in and out of the open window as she pleased. It was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn't come in to vacuum anymore, because Hedwig kept bringing back dead mice. Every night before she went to sleep, Marly ticked off another day on the piece of paper she had tied to the wall, counting down to September the first. In the first few days, she picked through all the things Dudley had thrown away, packing most of the books and several games into her trunk, but left the rest of it alone.

On the last day of August she thought she'd better speak to her aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so she went down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on television. She cleared her throat to let them know she was there, and Dudley screamed and ran from the room.

"Er—Uncle Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.

"Er—I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to—to go to Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?"

Grunt. Marly supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you. Er—oh—I'd forgotten to tell you—Professor McGonagall said that if you do take me, and get me there early, before eleven o'clock, Dudley will turn back to normal."

She was about to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a witches' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Marly didn't say anything.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Marly, realizing this for the first time. "Professor McGonagall didn't say. But I think it must be somewhere there's not a lot of M—non-magical people." She pulled the ticket out of her pocket. She didn't want to call them 'Muggles' in case it offended Uncle Vernon and made him shut her in her cupboard again.

"I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," she read.

Her aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters."

"It's on my ticket…Professor McGonagall explained it, it's hidden from Muggles."

"Barking," said Uncle Vernon, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Marly asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Going to the circus—and the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon. "If that woman doesn't keep her word, we've got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings, and something done about his face."

Marly woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. She got up and pulled on her new jeans and a T-shirt because she didn't want to walk into the station in her witch's robes—she'd change on the train. She checked her Hogwarts list yet again to make sure she had everything, saw that Hedwig was shut safely in her cage, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. An hour into waiting she went down to the kitchen to cook breakfast for them all—trying to keep things friendly. An hour after that, Marly's trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys' car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to Marly, and they had set off.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Marly's trunk into a cart and wheeled it into the station for her. Marly thought this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

"Well, there you are, girl. Platform nine—platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

"Well, of course _you_ can't see it," said Marly, praying that Professor McGonagall had been right, for if she wasn't then Marly was about to make an ever greater fool of herself. "Goodbye, Uncle Vernon."

She put Hedwig's cage on top of her trunk, gathered her courage, and pushed the cart towards the barrier. People jostled her on their way to platforms nine and ten. Marly walked more quickly. She was going to smash right into that barrier and then she'd be in trouble—leaning forward on her cart, she broke into a heavy run—the barrier was coming nearer and nearer—she wouldn't be able to stop—the cart was out of control—she was a foot away—she closed her eyes ready for the crash—

It didn't come…she kept running…she opened her eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A signed overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Marly looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ on it. A wave of relief swept over her: she had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Marly pushed her cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. She passed a girl with bushy brown hair who was saying, "Don't worry, I won't surrender to the allure of sugar, Mother."

"Oh, _Hermione_, I'll miss you," she heard the tall man next to her sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid off a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Marly pressed on through the crowd until she found an empty compartment near the end of the train. She put Hedwig inside first and then, because of the Light-Weight Charm on her trunk, easily lifted it into the train and tucked it into a compartment. She then pushed her cart into a train of them on the platform and hurried back inside.

The bushy-haired girl from before was struggling to lift her own trunk inside the train. "Don't mind if I sit with you, do I?" she panted, nodding towards the compartment Marly had chosen. "Oh—I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

"No, I don't mind—here, let me help," Marly offered. She took the other end of the trunk and tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise it, and twice she dropped it painfully on her foot. "What do you _have_ in here, Hermione Granger?"

"Books," said the other sheepishly, smiling at her and revealing large front teeth. "Lots and lots of books."

"Blimey—you should have gotten a trunk with a Light-Weight Charm, like mine," said Marly.

"Want a hand?" It was a tall, freckled redhead.

"Yes, please," Hermione panted, and Marly nodded.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!" An identical redhead came over. With the twins' help, Hermione's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment, opposite from Marly's.

"Thanks," said Hermione, and Marly nodded, pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Marly's lightning scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you—?"

"She _is_," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Marly.

"What?" said Marly.

"_Marlene Potter_," chorused the twins.

"Oh, her," said Marly. "I mean, yes, I am."

The two boys gawked at her, and Marly felt herself turning red. Then, to her relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum."

With a last look at Marly, the twins hopped off the train.

"Are you _really_?" said Hermione, sitting down in the compartment. Marly sat on the other side, perching on the seat above her trunk. "I know all about you, of course—I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"Am I?" said Marly, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do you know what House you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad."

"Er," said Marly. "I only found out that I was a famous witch a month ago…I've been through my schoolbooks and all, but nothing mentioned _me_. I've met Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick said he'd hoped I'd be in his House, Ravenclaw, but I'm really not sure."

The train began to move. Marly saw a plump redheaded woman and a younger girl that both looked to be related to the twins, Fred and George, waving and running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed.

"I read that Ravenclaw House has its own personal library, and there are books in there that you can't find in the main library," said Hermione. "It sounds incredible. Have you tried to do any magic, Marlene? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard—I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough…"

"Don't worry so much," said Marly. "Professor McGonagall said that everyone starts at the beginning—I know about as much as you do, probably less, actually. Could you call me Marly, my friends call me Marly…"

To her surprise, Hermione turned pink and smiled largely. "Are you my friend, then?"

"Of course," Marly said, surprised. "Unless you don't want to be friends."

"I'd _love_ to be your friend!" she said eagerly. "So Professor McGonagall came and told you that you're a witch, too? Who took you around Diagon Alley? She came and got me and two other Muggleborn girls the same day—the beginning of July, just a week after I got my letter, and explained everything to me."

Marly blinked. She'd never met anyone who talked so much and so fast. "Er—yeah—Professor McGonagall took me around Diagon Alley…she and Hagrid, the gamekeeper, came to fetch me. My—relatives, my aunt and uncle, are Muggles, and they don't like magic much, so they didn't want to let me go, and Hagrid had to persuade them."

"Really? Wow. You're _famous_, though, you defeated You-Know-Who, how could you not know?"

She'd never had any money in her life before, and she told Hermione so, all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes ("what! But you're a girl!") and never getting proper birthday presents ("what! I'll have to fix that next year, sorry I've missed it this year).

"…and until Hagrid and Professor McGonagall told me, I didn't know anything about being a witch or about my parents or Voldemort—"

Hermione gasped.

"What?" said Marly.

"_You said You-Know-Who's name_!" said Hermione, sounding both shocked and impressed.

"I'm not trying to be _brave_ or anything, saying the name," said Marly, "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn…I bet," she added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying her a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"You won't be. We'll study together, and do our homework together…if that's all right with you," said Hermione anxiously.

Marly, greatly relieved, said, "Oh, that'd be great!"

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Marly, who hadn't had the stomach to eat at breakfast, leapt to her feet, and Hermione followed.

Marly had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, and now that she had pockets rattling with gold and silver she was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as she could carry—but the woman didn't have Mars Bars. What she did have were Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Marly had never seen in her life. Not wanting to miss anything, she got some of everything and paid the woman twelve silver Sickles and received twenty-two bronze Knuts in change.

Hermione poked through the cart, frowning, but sat back down without buying anything. She stared as Marly brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped it into an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," said Marly, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

"Those are all _full_ of _sugar_," said Hermione in disapproval. "My parents are dentists, they would have a heart attack if they knew." She took out a small picnic basket and opened. There were four sandwiches and a thermos inside. She pulled one of the sandwiches apart and sighed. "She always gives me way too much."

"Swap you for one of these," said Marly, holding up a pasty. "They're good—come on, just one won't do you any harm."

"Oh, you don't want this, it's covered in mayonnaise," said Hermione. "Honestly—doesn't want me having any sugar but gives me mayonnaise on every sandwich—"

"Go on, have a pasty," said Marly, who had never had anything to share before or, indeed, anyone to share it with. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Hermione, eating their way through all Marly's pasties, cakes, and candies (Hermione ate one sandwich before giving in).

"What are these, d'you suppose?" Marly asked Hermione, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not _really_ frogs, are they?" She was starting to feel that nothing would surprise her.

"No, I don't think so," Hermione said, looking closely at it. "Open it and see."

Marly unwrapped her Chocolate Frog and picked up the card inside. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and moustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So _this_ is Dumbledore!"

"Don't tell me you've never seen a picture of Dumbledore? He's even in _A History of Magic_, because it mentions his duel with Grindelwald," said Hermione. "I didn't know those came with cards—here, can I have a frog? I might get someone interesting—thanks—oh, read yours aloud, I want to see what it says about him."

Marly turned over her card and read:

**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

**CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS**

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten pin bowling._

Marly turned the card back over and saw, to her astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Really? I suppose it must be enchanted, just like the portraits at Hogwarts, and magical pictures—the subjects all move. He'll be back. Ooh, Morgana!" said Hermione.

"Help yourself to the rest," said Marly. "I've never seen a picture move before, you know."

"Neither have I—but it says in _Hogwarts, a History_ that all the portraits in Hogwarts are enchanted."

Marly stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on her card and gave her a small smile. Hermione was just as interested in the cards as she was, although she didn't like eating the wriggly chocolate frogs. Soon she had not only Dumbledore and Morgana—for Hermione didn't want to keep the cards, just read them—but Hengist of Woodcraft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, and Merlin. Then she unwrapped one of Paracelsus, and gasped.

_Paracelsus (1493-1541): Contemporary of Copernicus and Leonardo Da Vinci. A medical genius whose bold theories challenged medieval thought. Credited with discovering Parseltongue, the language of snakes._

"Oh, hey! It says this wizard—Paracelsus—could talk to snakes! But that's not that uncommon, is it? I mean, I can do it," said Marly. "I talked to a boa constrictor in a zoo once—then I accidentally set him free. He's probably in Brazil by now."

"Marly, how would a snake cross the Atlantic Ocean?" asked Hermione. "You're a Parselmouth! That's said to be a Dark talent, though, Marly. The last person who could speak to snakes was You-Know-Who."

Marly pulled a face. "That's horrible! Talking to snakes isn't bad. That boa constrictor called me _amigo_, which means friend, I think."

"Well, _you_ may not think it's bad, Marly, but the rest of the wizarding world does. Slytherin could do it, and nearly everyone thinks he was evil."

Marly shrugged. "Maybe I'll bring a snake to school next year and speak to it in front of some people, I mean, I'm the Girl Who Lived, if anyone can change their opinions than I can." She didn't _like_ her fame, the attention it brought, but if it could be used for good, she'd use it.

The next one she unwrapped was the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose. She snorted, put the Chocolate Frog cards aside, and opened a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

"Be careful, Marly—when they say every flavour, they _mean_ every flavour," said Hermione, looking at the other bag of Bertie Bott's. "It says it includes normal flavours like…chocolate, peppermint, and marmalade…and then it also lists things like spinach, liver, and tripe!"

Marly picked out a pale green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into one corner. "Bleaaargh—sprouts!"

She had a good time eating the Every Flavour Beans, even though Hermione wouldn't touch them. Marly got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny grey one, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and a round-faced boy came in. He looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!:

"He'll turn up," said Marly.

Hermione shot Marly a look. "What's your name?"

"N-Neville, Neville Longbottom," he sniffled.

"I'm Hermione, Neville. I'll help you look." She stood and went to leave the compartment with him.

"Er—wait, Hermione, aren't there prefects on the train? Wouldn't they know how to find him?" said Marly.

"Oh—yes! You're quite right, Marly. I'll go with you, Neville, we'll go and find a prefect shall we?"

"Thank you!" cried Neville, and they left.

Marly stuffed the little trash bag in the corner of the compartment with the empty wrappers and put all the Chocolate Frog cards into her backpack. She pulled out a book about Quidditch—she was still wondering how it was played, and she hadn't gotten around to reading it over the month of August—and started reading.

A little while later, the compartment slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville or Hermione back from looking for Neville's toad.

Three boys entered, and Marly recognized the middle one at once: It was Draco Malfoy, the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Marly with a great deal of interest.

"Hello," he said. "They're saying all down the train that Marlene Potter's in this compartment—so I had to come and see, of course. Why are you sitting alone?"

"I'm not—Hermione just left to go and help Neville find his toad," said Marly. She was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of Draco, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said Draco carelessly, noticing where Marly was looking. "And as I said before—my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. Neville—not Neville Longbottom?"

"Yes," said Marly, wondering what was so funny when Draco sniggered.

"Neville the Squib, coming to Hogwarts! What _is_ the world coming to. And who is Hermione? What's her surname?"

"Er—Granger, I think."

"Granger—that's not a name I recognize. Muggleborn, is she?"

"Yes."

He sneered. "I see. You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Marly's. She shook it briefly.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," she said coolly. "Why don't you judge Hermione on her own merits first, before you just spout off whatever your father says? You should study with us in the library—she's bound for Ravenclaw, with her brains."

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks. "Think I'm stupid, do you?"

"No," said Marly. "I just think that you could have better friends than—them. No offense," she added, to Crabbe and Goyle. "But you two look more like bodyguards than friends."

Draco frowned. "They've always been my friends. Their fathers are friends with my father, after all."

"I'm not interested in what your father thinks, Draco," she told him, "I'm interested in what _you_ think."

"I see," Draco said slowly. "I'll have to think on that, Potter."

"My friends call me Marly," she told him. "Chocolate Frog?"

"No, thanks—we were just leaving."

"Oh, come on, just take one, I'm not going to finish all of these," said Marly, picking one up and offering it to him.

He took it with a long-suffering sigh, as if taking it was doing her a great favour, and then the three boys disappeared. A second later, Hermione returned.

"What _has_ been going on, there were just three boys leaving this compartment, and one of them had a Chocolate Frog, was that yours?" she said.

"Yes, it was, I gave it to him. Did you find Neville's toad?" queried Marly.

"Yes, we went to the front and asked a prefect, two fifth-year prefects—Percy Weasley, of Gryffindor I think, and Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw—taught us to Summon him! Neville couldn't make it work, but I did. Penelope Clearwater said that I'm going to a brilliant witch!" She took a breath. "Then I went up to see the conductor—he says we're nearly there, we'd better put our robes on."

"All right," Marly said, and the two of them pulled out their trunks and exchanged their jackets for long black robes. Marly peered out the window. It was getting dark. She could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Marly's stomach lurched with nerves and Hermione, she saw, looked pale. She stuffed her book and the last of her sweets into her bookbag, left it on top of her trunk, and joined the crowd thronging the corridor, sticking close to Hermione.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Marly shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Marly heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Marly?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years, follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Marly thought there must be thick trees there. Neville sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Marly and Hermione were followed into their boat by Neville and a redhead who looked to be Fred and George's brother.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then—FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

Hagrid checked the boats as people climbed out of them. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	8. The Sorting Hat

**CH 6: THE SORTING HAT  
**

* * *

The door swung open at once. Professor McGonagall stood there, looking sternly at the first years.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Marly could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right—the rest of the school must already be here—but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on the redhead's smudged nose. Marly nervously tried to flatten her hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Marly swallowed.

"Do you know how they sort us into Hogwarts?" she asked Hermione.

Hermione shook her head. "_Hogwarts, a History_ doesn't say. It's supposed to be a secret."

The redhead, overhearing them, said, "Some sort of test, I think. My brother Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Marly's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But she didn't know any magic yet—what on earth would she have to do? She hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. She looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Hermione, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Marly wished that they'd practiced some on the train. She'd never been more nervous, never, not even when she'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that she'd somehow turned her teacher's wig blue. She kept her eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead her to her doom.

Then something happened that made her jump about a foot in the air—several people behind her screamed.

"What the—?"

She gasped. So did the people around her. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost—I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old House, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though her legs had turned to lead, Marly got in line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Hermione behind her, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Marly had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Marly looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. She heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, a History_."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Marly quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed witch's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

_Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it_, Marly thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing—noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, she stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth—and the hat began to sing:

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Marly heard the redhead saying to another boy. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Marly smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but she did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Marly didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a House for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for her.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Marly saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Marly could see the twins catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Marly's imagination, but she thought they looked like an unpleasant lot.

She was starting to feel definitely sick now. She remembered being picked for teams during gym at her old school. She had always been last to be chosen, not because she was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked her.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Marly noticed, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnegan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Marly in line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.

A horrible thought struck Marly, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if she wasn't chosen at all? What if she just sat there with the hat over her eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off her head and said there had obviously been a mistake and she'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," he ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Draco Malfoy walked forward when his name was called, glanced once at Marly, looking deep in thought, and then sat down with the hat on. The hat opened its mouth several times but hesitated each time, then finally called out reluctantly, "RAVENCLAW!"

There was a stunned silence in the hall. Marly saw Crabbe and Goyle looking stupidly surprised over at the Slytherin table. Draco got up, placed the hat back on the stool, and walked over to the Ravenclaw table with quiet dignity; they started clapping half-heartedly.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon"…, "Nott"…, "Parkinson"…, then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"…, then "Perks, Sally-Anne".., and then, at last—

"Potter, Marlene!"

As Marly stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Marlene Potter?"

The last thing Marly saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at her. Next second she was looking at the black inside of a hat. She waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting…So where shall I put you?"

Marly gripped the edges of the stool and thought, _I want to be with Hermione—not Slytherin, not Slytherin._

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that."

_I'm already famous_, she thought. _Why would I want to be _more _famous?_

"No? Well, if you're sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Marly heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. She took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. She was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, she hardly noticed that she was getting the loudest cheer yet. Yet another redhead, this one wearing a badge with a P on it, got up and shook her hand vigorously, while the twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Marly sat down next to Hermione, opposite the ghost in the ruff she'd seen earlier. The ghost patted her arm, giving Marly the sudden, horrible feeling she'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

She could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest her sat Hagrid, who caught her eye and gave her the thumbs up. Marly grinned back. And there, in the centre of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Marly recognized him at once from the card she'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Marly spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only four people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a boy even taller than the youngest brother of Fred and George, joined Marly at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Weasley, Ronald's turn. He was pale green. A second later the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"

Marly clapped with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to her.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across the table as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Marly looked down at her empty gold plate. She had only just realized how hungry she was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Marly didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he—a bit mad?" she asked Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Marly?"

Marly's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of her were now piled with food. She had never seen so many things she liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Marly, but she'd never been allowed to eat as much as she liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Marly really wanted, even if it made him sick. Marly piled her plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Marly cut up her steak.

"Can't you—?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you—you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would _prefer_ you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy—" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnegan interrupted. He had a strong Irish accent.

"_Nearly _Headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

"Like _this_," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously trying to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, "So—new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable—he's the Slytherin ghost."

Marly looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Theodore Nott, who didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

As Marly helped herself to a bit of fudge and a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mum didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laughed.

"Well, everyone knows I'm a Weasley, you know—red hair, freckles. My dad works for the Ministry, and my mum's still at home with my sister. Fred, George, and Percy are still here at Hogwarts, but Bill and Charlie, my oldest brothers, they've left England," said Ron. "Gone to Romania and Egypt. What about you, Neville?"

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was a Squib for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me—he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned—but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced—all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here—they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

"That's horrible," said Marly. "Why would they _do_ that?"

Ron and Neville stared at her. "Magic's really important, to all-magical families," said Ron. "Those born without magic…Squibs…they're really looked down on. I think I have a second cousin who's one, an accountant in the Muggle world, but we never talk about him."

Marly frowned. "That's horrible. Just because someone doesn't have magic doesn't mean they're any less of a human being."

Neville just shrugged. "Glad it's not two hundred years ago—people still drowned Squibs at birth, then, or left them exposed."

Marly shook her head in disgust and turned to join in Percy and Hermione's discussion on her other side. They were talking about lessons.

"I _do_ hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult—" said Hermione.

"You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing—" said Percy.

"I'm looking forward to Charms and Transfiguration the most, cause that's what my parents were best in," said Marly. "Do you know which we have first, Percy?"

"No, sorry, the schedule changes every year," he said, shaking his head. He and Hermione started debating the finer points of knowing the exact timetable for every year and Marly looked up at the High Table again, starting to feel warm and sleepy.

Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Marly's eyes—and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Marly's forehead.

"Ouch!" Marly clapped a hand to her head, tearing her eyes away.

"What is it?" asked Percy.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Marly had gotten from the teacher's look—a feeling that Marly reminded him of something very sad, something he'd lost.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" she asked Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to—everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Marly watched Professor Snape for a while, but he didn't look at her again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered."

"Makes us sound like animals," whispered Fred (or was it George?).

"We _are_ animals, Fred," George whispered back.

"I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Marly laughed, but she was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" she muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere—the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Marly noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed, and Professor Snape's fingers were clenched rather tightly around his goblet.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot._"

Everybody finished the song at different times. Marly just stared with her mouth open—she'd never been able to carry a time. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Marly's legs were like lead again, but only because she was so tired and full of food. She was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Marly was just wondering how much further they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves—show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil chuckle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said.

"Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it—Neville needed a leg up—and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase—they were obviously in one of the towers—they found their beds at last: four four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up, and one was laid at the foot of each bed. Marly's bookbag was hung neatly on one post, ready to be used tomorrow. Too tired to talk much, Marly pulled on her pajamas and fell into bed, and Hermione did the same, but the other two girls—Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil—had already become fast friends and were gossiping about the older girls.

"Isn't it amazing?" Hermione asked, rolling over to face Marly through the hangings, as their beds were next to each other.

"Definitely," said Marly. "I can't wait for tomorrow." She was going to ask Hermione if she'd had any of the treacle tart, but she fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Marly had eaten a bit too much, because she had a very strange dream. She was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to her, telling her she must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was her destiny. Marly told the turban she didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; she tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully—and there was Dudley, laughing at her as she struggled with it—then Dudley turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, who stretched out a hand toward her, then started laughing. His laugh turned became high and cold—there was a burst of green light and Marly woke, sweating and shaking.

She rolled over and fell asleep again, and when she woke the next day, she didn't remember the dream at all.


	9. The Potions Professor

**CH 7: THE POTIONS MASTER  
**

_(note: updated previous chapters to fix minor mistakes that a few reviewers pointed out. Still looking for a beta, but I need to you to be logged in when you volunteer yourself so that I know who to send the documents to, lol.)  
_

* * *

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the girl with bushy hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see her hair?"

"Did you see her scar?"

Whispers followed Marly from the moment she left her dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at her, or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, staring. Marly wished they wouldn't, because she was trying to concentrate on finding her way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump (Marly fell through one twice before remembering). Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Marly was sure the coats of armour could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Sir Nicholas was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Luckily for Marly, she stuck with Hermione, who knew her way around better than any other first year—she said she had almost photographic memory—but Ron and Seamus managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Ron told Marly over lunch that day that the two of them had been lost and trying to get into the out-of-bounds corridor, and only managed to escape Filch, who wouldn't believe that they were only lost, because of Professor Quirrell.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured cat with bulging, lamplike eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Marly quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movement of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. at the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Marly's name he gave an excited squeak and almost fell over.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class, and made it clear without saying anything of the sort that she would not be showing Marly any favours.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson. only Hermione had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnegan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Marly was very relieved to find out that she wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people born to wizarding families, like Ron, didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Marly and Hermione. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Marly asked Hermione as she added a bit of salt to her scrambled eggs.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Hermione. "Professor Snape's their Head of House, I've heard people say that he favours them but _I_ don't think it's true."

"Wish Professor McGonagall favoured us," said Marly. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before. Marly and Hermione had spent at least an hour in the library trying to get it all done before they got more homework from their other classes, but only managed to finish half of it.

Just then, the mail arrived. Marly had gotten used to this by now, but it had given her a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Marly anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble her ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Marly's plate. Marly tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

_Dear Marly,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?_

_I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

Marly carried her fountain pen everywhere with her. She pulled it out and wrote on the back, _Yes, please, see you later_ on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Marly had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because her first Potions lesson turned out to be the most disquieting thing that had happened to her so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Marly had gotten the idea that Professor Snape had lost someone very close to him, someone that Marly reminded him of. By the end of the first Potions lesson, she knew she'd been right.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Marly's name.

"Marlene Potter," he said softly. His eyes locked directly with hers, and she saw again that great loss. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty, as if he did not live for anything anymore.

After a brief hesitation, he finished calling the names and looked up at the class.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, every stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Marly was captivated instantly. It hadn't sounded so amazing in her Potions textbook when she'd read through it, but maybe, taught by such a master of the art, it would be. Hermione was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving she wasn't a dunderhead; Marly saw Ron and Dean Thomas exchange looks with raised eyebrows in front of her.

"Potter!" said Professor Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_I know I saw this somewhere—somewhere in the Potions book, it mentioned asphodel…wormwood…sleep!_ "Er—a sleeping potion, I think, sir," said Marly. Hermione's hand had shot up, but she lowered it when Marly answered, nodding at her.

Snape's lips curled. "Are you asking me, or telling me, Ms. Potter?"

"Er—telling you, sir."

"You're half right, Potter. Weasley! Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

This one Marly didn't know, although Hermione clearly did, for she raised her hand as high up into the air as it could go without her leaving her seat. Ron looked just as stumped as Marly was. "I don't know, Professor."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Weasley? Let's try again. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Ron. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed; Seamus winked at Ron. Professor Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, asphodel and wormwood made a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all writing this down?"

Marly and Hermione had started scribbling down his words the moment he began speaking, but everyone else hadn't, and there was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Professor Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Weasley."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Professor Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Marly, who he just watched in that strangely sad way whenever he came near. He was just telling off Lavender Brown for stewing her horned slugs incorrectly when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus' cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Professor Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Ron and Dean, who had been working next to Neville.

"You—Weasley—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Marly opened her mouth to argue, but Professor Snape had already turned to stalk towards the Slytherin side of the class.

"I've heard that Snape could turn very nasty," she heard Ron say to Dean in a low voice. "But that was low. How was I supposed to know?"

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Marly's mind was racing. She hadn't lost any points herself, but why did Snape look at her like that? And why didn't he seem to like the Gryffindors? Was it just because he was the head of Slytherin House?

"Let's go to the library after lunch, make some more headway on Transfiguration before you go and see Hagrid," said Hermione. "Oh—can I come and meet him with you? He must have some interesting stories about Hogwarts. I wonder how long he's been here!"

"No, I want to speak with Professor McGonagall," said Marly. "I want to ask her about Professor Snape."

Said professor suddenly loomed up behind them like a spectre, an unpleasant look on his face. "And why are you talking about me, Ms. Potter, Ms. Granger?"

"I _wasn't_," protested Hermione. "Tell him, Marly—I wouldn't!"

"She wasn't, sir," said Marly. "I was going to ask Professor McGonagall, but since you're here, I may as well ask you…why do you look at me like that? Did you know my parents, is that why you look so sad?"

"Off to lunch, Ms. Granger," said Professor Snape sharply. "That is _private_, Potter." He swept past them towards the Great Hall, his cloak billowing behind him.

Marly frowned. "I guess I'll be going with you to the library after all, Hermione."

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Marly knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "_Back_, Fang—_back_."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Hermione and started licking her face. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Hermione," Marly told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"A Muggleborn, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Hermione. "Nice ter meet yeh, Hermione."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Marly and Hermione pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Marly's knee and drooled all over her robes.

Marly and Hermione were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her—Filch puts her up to it."

Marly told Hagrid about Professor Snape's lesson. Hagrid frowned. "He must be seein' Lily in yeh, Marly," he told her. "He an' yer mum were close pals, back when they were in school."

"They were in school together?"

"Oh, yeah," said Hagrid. "Same year as yer parents."

Marly couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet her eyes when he said that. _There has to be more to that story_, she thought.

"So what are yeh interested in learnin' in the future, Hermione?" Hagrid asked Hermione.

Marly wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Hermione told Hagrid all about the depths of the subjects she wanted to learn, Marly picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the _Daily Prophet_:

**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST**

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

_"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

Marly's eyebrows shot up. "Hagrid! That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were in Diagon Alley!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Marly's eyes this time. He grunted and offered her another rock cake. Marly read the story again. What had been Hagrid's "Hogwarts business" with Gringotts? Could it have been whatever was in that vault, whatever those thieves were looking for?

As Marly and Hermione walked back to the castle for dinner, tossing the rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse in the lake as they passed it, Marly thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given her as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected—whatever it was—just in time? And did Hagrid know something about Professor Snape that he didn't want to tell her?


	10. The Midnight Meeting

**CH 8: THE MIDNIGHT MEETING  
**

* * *

Marly had never believed she would meet someone she hated more than Dudley, and that was still true, although she really disliked some of the Slytherins. Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with them much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday—and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Marly darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of the Slytherins."

She had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else—perhaps it was that recurring dream of the flying motorcycle.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Hermione reasonably, but she was very nervous about learning to fly, herself. "I'll probably fall off and make everyone laugh…"

They weren't the only nervous ones, but Seamus Finnegan and Ron Weasley told long, boastful stories of zooming around the countryside on their broomsticks and almost hitting hang gliders. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly, even Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who sighed over posters of half-naked Quidditch players and wanted to know Marly and Hermione's opinions on them, too.

Neville had never been on a broomstick on his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Marly felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione was almost as nervous as Neville. This was something you couldn't learn out of a book—not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she read a bunch of flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later. Marly listened in half-heartedly, but like everyone else, was pleased when her lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Marly hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, but she had noticed that Draco's eagle owl was always bringing him long letters, the first of which he read at the table, the others he stuffed in his bookbag without opening. He didn't seem to have many friends in Ravenclaw, and she often caught him watching Crabbe, Goyle, the boy they had started following around in place of Malfoy—Nott—and the other Slytherins longingly, but just as often she caught him watching her.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things—this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red—oh…" His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "…you've forgotten something…"

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Ron jumped to his feet. He looked like he was half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and sloped away, but not before a paper, folded up several times, fluttered out of his hand and into Marly's lap. Her name was written on it.

_Marly—private_

She glanced around, and nobody was looking; Hermione was trying to help Neville remember whatever he'd forgotten, and Dean and Ron were arguing the virtues of football and Quidditch again. She unfolded it and read,

_Marly—private_

_I'd like to talk to you. Meet me tonight in the trophy room at midnight, it's always unlocked. Come alone._

At three-thirty that afternoon, Marly, Hermione, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Marly had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"What, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Marly glanced down at her broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'UP!' "

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Marly's broom jumped into her hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Marly; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms stead, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—"

But Neville, nervous and jump and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle—twelve feet—twenty feet. Marly saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off his broom and—

WHAM—a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Marly heard her mutter. "Come on, boy—it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Theodore Nott burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Nott," snapped Parvati.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin. "Never thought _you'd _like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Nott, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give that here, Nott," said Marly quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Nott smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"

"Give it_ here_!" Marly yelled, but Nott had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Marly grabbed her broom.

"_No_!" shouted Hermione. "Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get us all into trouble."

Marly ignored her. Blood was pounding in her ears. She mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up she soared; air rushed through her hair, and her robes whipped out behind her—and in a rush of fierce joy she realized she'd found something she could do without being taught—this was easy, this was _wonderful_. She pulled her broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps from girls back on the ground and admiring whoops and catcalls from the boys.

She turned her broomstick sharply to face Nott in midair. Nott looked stunned.

"Give it here," Marly called, "or I'll knock you off that broom! See how _you_ feel with a broken wrist."

"Oh, yeah?" said Nott, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Marly knew, somehow, what to do. She leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Nott like a javelin. He only just got out of the way in time; Marly made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Nott," Marly called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Nott.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Marly saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. She leaned forward and pointed her broom handle down—next second she was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball—wind whistled in her ears, mingled with the screams of people watching—she stretched out her hand—a foot from the ground she caught it, just in time to pull her broom straight, and she toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in her fist, grinning up at the blue, blue sky.

"MARLENE POTTER!"

Her heart sank faster than she'd just dived, and her smile disappeared. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. She got to her feet, trembling.

"_Never_—in all my time at Hogwarts—"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "—how _dare_ you—might have broken your neck—"

"It wasn't her fault, Professor—"

"Be quiet, Ms. Patil—"

"But Nott—"

"That's _enough_, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."

Marly caught sight of Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as she left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. She was going to be expelled, she just knew it. She wanted to say something to defend herself, but there seemed to be something wrong with her voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at her; she had to jog to keep up. Now she'd done it. She hadn't even lasted two weeks. She'd be packing her bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when she turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to her. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Marly trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking her to Dumbledore. She thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps she could be Hagrid's assistant. Her stomach twisted as she imagined in, watching Hermione and the others become witches and wizards while she stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? thought Marly, bewildered; was Wood a cane Professor McGonagall was going to use on her?

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's classroom looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Marly.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Marly, this is Oliver Wood. Wood—I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The girl's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Marly?"

Marly nodded silently. She didn't have a clue what was going on, but she didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to her legs.

"She caught that thing in her hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch herself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"She's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Marly and staring at her. "Light—speedy—we'll have to get her a decent broom, Professor—a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. _Flattened_ in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks…"

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Marly.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Marly, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Then she suddenly smiled.

"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

There was a moment when Marly wanted to ask Professor McGonagall about Professor Snape's relationship with her parents—but then Wood started talking about when they'd start training her, and the moment passed.

"You're _joking_."

It was dinnertime. Marly had just finished telling Hermione what had happened when she'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Hermione frowned in consternation.

"_Seeker_?" she said. "I hope you don't think that's a reward for breaking the rules—"

"Of course not," said Marly, hastening to assure her. "And anyways, I wouldn't have done it if Nott hadn't taken Neville's Remembrall in the first place."

Hermione shook her head. "That's no excuse to break _rules_, Marly," she said primly. "Rules are there for a reason, they're to keep us _safe_ and _orderly_."

"I'm perfectly fine! And I'm the youngest Seeker in a _century—_Wood told me." She cut up her steak and started eating it. She felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon.

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, but smiled at Marly. "That _is_ quite an accomplishment—I wonder who the youngest Seeker was before you? When do you start training, do you know?"

"Look it up and let me know," said Marly. "I start training next week—but don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Marly, and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too—Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Marly, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Nott, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting on the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Marly coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Nott. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course she has," said Ron Weasley, wheeling around. "I'm her second, who's yours?"

Nott looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

"No, I don't _want_ a duel, Nott," Marly rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't do anything more than throw sparks at me, anyways."

"I'll be there," Nott said in reply, smirking. "If you're not a _coward_, you'll show up."

When Nott had gone, Marly scowled at Ron, her pride smarting and temper rising.

"I don't care _what_ a wizard's duel is," she said to him. "You had no right to agree to something for me. And I'm not going tonight."

"Well, all right then, Potter," Ron muttered, the tips of his ears going red. "He called you a coward, are you going to live up to that?"

Marly nearly punched him for that. Instead she stood abruptly, her fists clenching and face furious, then turned on her heel and walked away.

Hermione caught up to here just as she was about to leave the Hall. "Good, I'm glad you're not going—that Ronald, how dare he accept a duel for you? Anyways, you can't be called a coward for refusing a _wizard's_ duel, you're a witch, after all. If Nott had just said _duel—_or even _witch-and-wizard's _duel—"

"Thanks, Hermione," said Marly.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Marly thought, as she lay awake much later listening to Lavender and Parvati fall asleep. Hermione had spent all evening dogging her to make sure she wasn't going to change her mind and go. It was a very strange coincidence, Marly thought, that the very day Draco Malfoy wanted to meet her in the trophy room, Nott had challenged her to a duel in that very spot. There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, especially after the debacle at dinner. Marly felt she was pushing her luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Draco's note was clenched in one hand—what did he want to say? And why at midnight, with no witnesses? She couldn't miss it.

She looked at the illuminated clock hanging on the dormitory wall; it showed half past eleven. _I'd better get going, then_.

She pulled on her cloak, the hood over her head, picked up her wand, and crept across the tower room. Hermione was waiting in her bathrobe just outside at the top of the spiral staircase.

"I thought you _weren't_ going to go," she hissed, following Marly down. "Think of all the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught—I almost told Percy, the prefect, he'd put a stop to this—"

Marly frowned at her. "I'm not going to fight Nott, Hermione," she whispered. "I'm going to—" she stopped. Draco had made it sound very private. "I'm going to speak to someone."

"Right. At midnight," said Hermione sarcastically. "Don't you _care_ about Gryffindor? I thought you said you weren't going to break any more rules, do you _only_ care about yourself, _I _don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup—"

"I don't _either_, _Hermione_," Marly hissed. "If you don't shut it—the whole tower's going to wake up. Go back to _bed_." She was now regretting befriending the bushy-haired girl.

They had reached the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows.

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so—"

Marly ignored her and pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady, climbing through easily. Hermione huffed. "Fine, but I'm waiting right here for you to get back, you'd _better_ not lose Gryffindor any points—"

"Fine," said Marly. "Just _shut up_, Hermione. And don't blame me if you fall asleep in History tomorrow like everyone else."

The portrait hole closed, revealing an empty portrait. The Fat Lady must have gone on a nighttime visit, Marly thought, and momentarily panicked before remembering that she'd probably be gone a while and the Fat Lady wouldn't be gone the _whole_ night, she never was.

She started towards the trophy room and hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when she heard a snuffling sound. She froze, then relaxed when the gleaming eyes of Mrs. Norris didn't glare up at her and crept a bit closer.

It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

Marly felt sort of sorry for Neville. Everyone laughed at him behind his back, and nobody had really befriended him, except for Hermione in her own bossy way. _Well, I'll be his friend from now on_, she decided.

"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere," said Marly. "She should be back soon. How's your arm?"

"Fine," said Neville, showing her. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good—well, look, Neville, I've got to be somewhere, I'll see you later—"

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Marly looked at her watch—it was ten to midnight now. She didn't have much time, and it would probably take too long to convince him to wait for the Fat Lady to come back. "Fine—but you can't say anything about who I'm meeting, all right? And be quiet, I don't want us to get caught."

Neville nodded eagerly.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Marly expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Nott and Crabbe weren't there yet, if they were coming at all. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Marly gripped her wand tightly in case she had to use it—how, though, she didn't know; all they'd learned was how to turn a matchstick into a needle, and that wouldn't help her, as she hadn't managed it yet.

"You came," said someone in a relieved whisper, and Neville squeaked, jumping. Marly shushed him. Draco emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room, wand held aloft and eyes alert. He looked disappointed. "But you didn't come alone."

"I tried," Marly said. "But Neville got stuck outside the common room and tagged along when I left it. I thought he could stand watch, or something."

"Well, Longbottom?" Draco drawled. "Go—shoo—stand outside the door and watch for Filch."

Neville hesitated, shooting Draco a wary look, and then turning to Marly for confirmation. "You'll be alright, Marlene?"

"I'll be fine, Nev," said Marly. "Go—this won't take too long."

Neville looked between them worriedly, then shuffled towards the nearest door. "All right—but if I hear anything—"

"—you'll scream and run for it," sneered Draco, waving his free hand airily.

Marly frowned at him. "Can't you just be nice for once?"

He tilted his head forward, throwing his face into shadows, and looked at her with an inscrutable expression. "I've thought about what you said, Potter—on the train, I mean." He paused. "That's what got me into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin."

Marly frowned. "Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

He sighed. "I'm not sure. I've always wanted to follow in my father's footsteps—get Sorted into Slytherin—"

Then Neville came back inside, his eyes wide with fear. "I heard something, out there," he whispered, and they all froze as they heard a noise in the next room, and then someone spoke, and it wasn't Nott.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Marly waved madly at the other two to follow her as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Marly mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run—he tripped, grabbed a suit of armour to stop himself, and toppled right into a second suit of armour.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Marly yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following—the swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Marly in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going—they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Marly panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping her forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"You—don't—say," Draco gasped, clutching at the stitch in his side. "How'd—you—know how to get here?"

Marly grinned sheepishly. "Er—luck?"

"Well—whatever, Potter. Anyways, I suppose we can continue tomorrow…say, lunch, down by the lake? Almost everyone takes lunch in the Great Hall," said Draco.

"Didn't I say my friends call me Marly?" said Marly, already wondering what she'd tell Hermione about not being at lunch the next day—she'd probably be late for their study session in the library. If Hermione still _wanted_ to study with her, that was.

"Are we friends, then?" There was an unusual note of hesitation in Draco's voice, and Marly smiled at him.

"Of course," she said, and glancing at Neville, "Neville, too. Whatever you want to say to me—you can trust him with, too. I know it."

Neville flushed red and grinned.

"We'd better get back to our dormitories," said Draco, his pale cheeks turning pink. "Gryffindor's to the right off the end of this corridor, isn't it? Ravenclaw's the opposite way."

"Yeah—let's go."

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves—please—you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackles.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"I'll have my father get someone in to exorcise you if you don't _get out of the way_," Draco snarled, taking a swipe at Peeves—this was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!:

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door—and it was locked.

"We're done for!" Neville moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves' shouts.

"Oh, move over," Draco said sharply. He tapped his wand to the lock and whispered "_Alohomora_!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open—they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please.' "

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now _where did they go_?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right—_please_."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Marly whispered. "I think we'll be okay—get _off_, Nev!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Marly's robe for the last minute. "_What_?"

Marly turned around—and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, she was sure she'd walked into a nightmare—this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as she had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Marly knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Marly groped for the doorknob—between Filch and death, she'd take Filch.

They fell backward—Marly slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared—all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor, and Marly didn't even notice when Draco broke off from her and Neville to go to the Ravenclaw common room.

"Where on earth have you two been?" she asked, looking at their robes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that—pig snout, pig snout," panted Marly, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs. Hermione, who had curled up in one and almost fallen asleep, sprang up at once.

"What is it? What's happened? Did you duel Nott after all—Neville! Why did you take _Neville Longbottom_ with you, Marlene Potter?" Hermione's questions were hissed quickly and quietly, as she didn't want to wake up the rest of Gryffindor any more than they did.

It was a while before Marly said anything, and Neville looked as though he'd never speak again.

"There—we—we ran into the most _horrible_ creature I've ever _seen_," she gasped out at last, shuddering. "It was like—like—that cerb—cerb—the three-headed dog that guards the way to—"

"A _cerberus_? Where'd you run into a _cerberus_?"

"Now we know why that corridor's forbidden," said Marly, still shuddering. She was going to have nightmares tonight—she _knew_ it.

"What were you doing in the _forbidden corridor_!" Her voice almost rose to a shriek then, and Marly shushed her.

"Sh, Hermione! Calm down, it wasn't like we _meant_ to, we were running from Filch and Peeves ratted us out because Draco's an arrogant git—"

"_Draco_? Draco_ Malfoy_? Why were you with _Draco Malfoy_ of all people—"

"Hermione, please, _shh_!" Marly begged, glancing at the stairs to see if anyone had come down to see what the noise was about. "I'll tell you tomorrow—it's late right now—Neville, you'll be there, right? You deserve to be, I mean, _that dog_—" Marly broke off, shuddering again.

Neville nodded, his eyes still wide open, and Marly did not doubt that he'd be having nightmares as well.

"What _are_ they thinking, keeping a dog like that in a _school_," she muttered. "If any dog needs exercise—"

"It was standing on a trapdoor," said Neville, his voice much more timid than normal. "I think it was guarding something."

Hermione stood up, glaring at them. "Well—I hope you're pleased with yourselves—I'll _certainly_ be expecting answers from you tomorrow, Marlene Potter. You could have been killed, or worse, _expelled_! Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Marly shook her head. "See you tomorrow, Neville. You'd think I'd _made_ her stay up out here."

But Neville had given Marly something else to think about as she climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something…What had Professor McGonagall said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide—except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Marly had found out where the thing Hagrid had taken from Gringotts was.


	11. Halloween

**CH 9: HALLOWEEN  
**

* * *

Nott looked quite surprised to see that Marly was still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Marly thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure (she hadn't had any nightmares at all) and she was quite keen to have another one, although maybe not so close to giant teeth next time.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again. And Hermione pestered Marly all through breakfast about what had happened the night before, until Marly finally cracked and told her where she'd be meeting Draco and Neville for lunch.

As soon as lunch appeared on the tables of the Great Hall, Marly grabbed some food for herself, drank a bit of pumpkin juice, and headed out. Neville hurried to catch up, a sandwich stuffed in his mouth and his pockets overflowing with fruit and rolls.

"Got any apples in there?"

"Yeah—hold on," said Neville, fumbling through his left pocket. "I've got two, here."

Draco was already there, sprawled lazily on the ground, his hand behind his head and grey eyes fixed on the clouds.

"So, you _did_ come, after all," he drawled, and somehow managed to look down his nose at Marly and Neville even lying down.

"Of course," said Marly.

"I want to know what _happened_ last night," Hermione demanded.

Marly filled her in on the events of the previous night, and then added that Hagrid had taken something from Gringotts to be brought to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Draco.

"Or both," said Marly.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was something Hagrid could carry in his pocket (for Marly hadn't seen him carrying any large packages), they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

They continued meeting by the lake for lunch on sunny days, although on rainy days they stayed in the Great Hall, and it was on one such day a week later that Marly and Hermione had just sat down to breakfast when the mail came in.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Marly was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of her, knocking her bacon to the floor. They had hardly flutered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Marly ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

_DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE._

_It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session._

_Professor M. McGonagall_

Marly had difficulty hiding her glee as she handed the note to Hermione and then Neville to read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand—wow," said Neville. "That's the newest one, isn't it, supposed to be their best yet."

Hermione gave her a severe look. "Don't think this is a reward for breaking the rules, do you?"

"Lighten up, Hermione," said Marly, her heart lighter than air, elbowing the other girl in the ribs. "It's not for breaking the rules—it's for being the best Seeker the Professor's ever seen. Come on, I want to look at it."

Neville stayed to finish eating, but Marly and Hermione left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broom in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Nott. Nott seized the package from Marly and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Marly with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

Marly smirked at him. "Don't worry about _me_, Nott," she said. "Everything's taken care of."

Before Nott could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at his elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Nott quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Marly. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Ms. Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Marly, fighting not to laugh at the look of outrage on Nott's face. "And it's really thanks to Nott here that I've got it," she added.

Marly and Hermione headed upstairs, Marly smothering laughter and Hermione shaking her head in prim disapproval.

"You shouldn't provoke him like that, Marly," she reproved. "That just brings you down to his level."

Marly shrugged. "I suppose. But it's true—if he hadn't stolen Nev's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team."

Marly had a lot of trouble keeping her mind on her lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where her new broomstick was lying under her bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where she'd be learning to play that night. She bolted her dinner that evening without noticing what she was eating, and then rushed upstairs to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last. Hermione declined to accompany her, citing the need to look through just _one more_ book for more information on the essay Professor Binns had assigned.

"Wow," Marly sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto her bedspread.

Marly, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Marly left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. She'd never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Marly of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Marly mounted her broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling—she swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever she wanted at her lightest touch.

"Hey, Potter, come down!"

Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Marly dived and landed neatly next to him.

"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant…you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

Marly, who had read about Quidditch before, nodded as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a football. "Three Chasers."

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try to get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Marly recited. "So—it's sort of like basketball with six hoops, is it?"

"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously.

"Muggle sport—not important," said Marly quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper—I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Marly, squinting. "And they play with the Quaffle—got it. So what are they for?" She pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."

He handed Marly a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "These two are the Bludgers."

He showed Marly two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Marly noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Wood warned Marly. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Marly's face. Marly dodged and swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking her nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air—it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dove on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team—the Weasley twins are ours—it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So—think you've got all that?"

"Basketball-slash-Dodgeball on broomsticks," said Marly, laughing, "this is going to be _fun_! Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team."

"Very good," said Wood. "Dodgeball, is that another Muggle sport?"

"Yes," said Marly. "Er—have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Marly asked, hoping she sounded offhand.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers—"

"—unless they crack my head open."

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers—I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Wood reached into the crate and took out the last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

"_This_," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his—or her—team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages—I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing in substitutes so the players could get some sleep."

"Well, that's it—any questions?"

Marly shook her head. She understood what she had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem—especially with _her_ eyes.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try you out with a few of these."

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Marly were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Marly to catch.

Marly didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.

"That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Perhaps it was because she was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of her study group and homework, but Marly could hardly believe it when she realized that she'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. Her lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

The Friday before Halloween, Professor Snape watched her closely during class—perhaps because her grades had been slipping slightly, from an average of Exceeds Expectations to Average—and told her to stay back after class.

With trepidation—though he hadn't been outright mean to her as he had to the other Gryffindors, Professor Snape hadn't been _kind_, either, especially since she'd asked about her parents—she cleaned up her work station and approached his desk, her bookbag slung over one shoulder and the strap loose so she'd have something to do with her hands. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Ms. Potter—your marks have been slipping, and I think I know the reason why. I noticed you were squinting at the board and rubbing your head during class today; have you been having headaches?" His voice was cool and remote, and Marly dared to glance up; his face was expressionless, his eyes fathomless black holes.

"Er—yes, I have, sir," she said, wondering how he'd known. "Not bad ones, though…"

"So you were just going to wait and see if they went away on their own, is that it?" he said acidly. "You aren't here to be mollycoddled, Potter, but there _is_ a nurse here for that sort of thing."

Marly ducked her head a little. "Yes, sir."

"When was the last time you got your eyes checked, Potter?" he asked abruptly.

Marly blinked. "I haven't, sir, my aunt got these for me—" she tapped her taped-up glasses with a finger, "—out of the bargain bin, they were the best fit."

Professor Snape scowled, sat down and wrote out something on a slip of parchment. "Go to Madam Pomfrey right now, Ms. Potter—give her this, and comply with _all_ she asks of you, or I shall know the reason why."

Marly took the parchment and nodded. "Yes, sir."

He took a stack of papers and began marking them with a red pen. She took that as a sign of dismissal and left. Since she had joined the Quidditch team, she no longer had Flying lessons on Fridays, so she had the afternoon free; she had planned to finish up her Transfiguration essay and then go flying a bit, but Hermione wanted to work with her on that essay that evening anyways.

Madam Pomfrey gave her a full physical work-up, innoculated her against various wizarding diseases—Marly hadn't even known there _were _any wizarding diseases—and tapped her glasses to fix her prescription.

"Now, this isn't a _permanent_ fix, dear," Madam Pomfrey warned Marly. "You'd better go and see an oculist over Christmas break, there's one in Hogsmeade and one in Diagon Alley, they'll be able to fix you up with a _proper_ pair of glasses, and they'll be able to determine whether you're eligible for this new treatment—it's a Potions regimen, they'll be able to tell you more, you take a few Potions and your eyesight's fixed."

Marly found herself hoping that she'd be eligible for it—to not have glasses anymore would be wonderful. She hated being half-blind without them.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," she said. "Er—do I have to have a referral to go there?"

"No, dear—although you may have to have one to get down to Hogsmeade if you're staying at Hogwarts this Christmas. Come to me if you need one and I'll write it out."

Marly grinned. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey!"

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Marly's partner was Seamus Finnegan (Neville had been trying to catch her eye, but Professor Flitwick wanted to separate Dean Thomas and Seamus for this lesson). Hermione, however, was partnered with Ron Weasley. It was hard to tell whether Hermione or Ron was angrier about this. Ron, Marly had discovered, didn't like Hermione, and Hermione didn't like Ron.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was very difficult. Marly and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it—Marly had to put it out with her hat.

At the next table, Ron wasn't having much more luck.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione snapped. "It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_oh_-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her robe, flicked her wand, and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Hermione looked like she was about to cry, and rushed past the three boys, clutching her books to her chest. Marly frowned and hastened after her, just in time to hear Ron continue:

"She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Marly lost Hermione somewhere between Charms and their next class, and didn't want to be late looking for her when they had the same schedule anyways. Unfortunately, Hermione didn't show up to that class—provoking Professor McGonagall to ask Marly after class where she was—and Marly didn't see her the rest of that afternoon.

On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, hoping Hermione would show up, Marly and Neville overheard Parvati telling Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' loo (the one on the second floor, nearest the Great Hall) and wanted to be left alone. Marly could've smacked herself; how could she have forgotten to check the loo? It seemed Ron overheard this as well, for he looked very awkward and somewhat regretful.

"I'm going to go get Hermione," said Marly, stopping at the doors of the Great Hall, looking around in awe at the thousands of live bats and dozens of Jack-o-lanterns. "You go on, Nev—save us a place, will you, and make sure Weasley and company don't eat all the food?"

"Yeah, sure," said Neville.

Marly ducked around a group of Hufflepuffs, slipped through a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls' loo. It didn't take her long to get there.

"Hermione?" she called. "Are you in here?"

There was a sniffling sound from one of the stalls, and Hermione's voice said weakly, "Leave me alone, Marlene."

Marly went to the closed stall and knocked on it. "No, I'm not leaving, Hermione—I didn't realize you were in here all afternoon, I looked everywhere else, I still can't believe you weren't in the library…"

"What, you think I'm a know-it-all too?" said Hermione bitterly. "Everyone always does, and then they don't want to be my friend…what's wrong with learning, I _like _to learn…"

"Nothing's wrong with learning," said Marly, taken by surprise. "I don't think you're a know-it-all—you're a little bossy, sure, but I like being your friend! Ron Weasley doesn't know what he's missing."

Hermione sniffed a couple times, and her voice was small when she asked, "Really?"

"Really, really," said Marly. "Are you going to come out now? There's a whopping great feast waiting for us in the Great Hall—Nev's saving us a couple of seats."

Marly didn't like the idea of celebrating the day her parents died—but it was Halloween. And the Great Hall was already decorated, the food already made; no point in putting all that effort to waste.

"All right," said Hermione, and there was a shuffling sound before she opened the stall door. "Parvati was in here earlier, I told _her_ to go away and she listened, why didn't you…"

"Because I'm your _friend_, Hermione," said Marly, hugging her. "Friends look out for each other. Come on, wash up, the Halloween feast's waiting…you should see the decorations…"

And then they heard it—a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Marly turned slowly to look at the door, where something huge had appeared.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite grey, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

"Hermione," said Marly as quietly as she could, "tell me that's not what I think it is…"

"If you think it's a troll—" said Hermione, her face pale, "—then you're right."

The troll saw them and stopped, looking puzzled. Marly slowly drew her wand—she wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she had to do _something_.

The door suddenly slammed shut behind the troll, and the lock clicked. Hermione screamed, and Marly gulped: _now_ how were they going to get out of there?

The troll made up its mind at the sound of Hermione's scream; it started advancing on them, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went. Marly pointed her wand at it, her arm shaking, and shouted, "_Petrificus totalus_!" It was a spell she'd read about but had never tried, and it fizzled out before it even hit the troll.

Hermione screamed again, a high, petrified sound, and cowered against the sinks, looking as if she was about to faint. Suddenly the door burst open again, and Neville and Ron were there, looking pale but determined.

"Confuse it!" Marly said desperately to Neville and Ron. Neville seized a tap from the ground and threw it hard against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Marly and Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise; Marly tugged on Hermione, who was still petrified, and managed to pull her to the side, out of the troll's way if it turned back.

The troll hesitated, then lifted its club and went for Neville.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Marly, Hermione, and Neville time to run around it.

"Come on, run, _run_!" Marly yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but Hermione couldn't move, she was flat against the wall again, her mouth open with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Marly, leaving Hermione to Neville, then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: She took a great running jump and managed to fasten her arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Marly hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood into its eye, and Marly's wand had still been in her hand when she'd jumped—it had gone straight into one of the troll's eyeballs.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Marly clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip her off or catch her a terrible blow with the club.

Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright, and Neville joined her, looking panic-stricken at Marly on the troll's back; Ron pulled out his own wand—"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over—and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Marly got to her feet. She was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

"Is it—dead?"

"I don't think so," said Marly, "I think it's just been knocked out."

She bent down and pulled her wand out of the troll's punctured eye. It was covered in blood and some lumpy white fluid.

"Urgh—eyeball juice."

She wiped it on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall came bursting into the room, closely followed by Professor Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Professor Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Marly, Ron, and Neville. Marly had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Marly's mind.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Marly looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Professor Snape gave Marly a swift, piercing look. Marly looked at the floor. She wished Ron would put his wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I went looking for the troll—"

"_That's_ a _lie_," interrupted Neville, climbing to his feet as well. His face was still pasty white, but he looked even more determined than when he had charged in to confront the troll. "Ron and I came looking for Marly and Hermione—they weren't at the feast, you see, and Marly told me beforehand that she's be with Hermione in the loo, because Ron made her cry earlier."

Ron flushed and looked at his feet awkwardly, finally dropping his wand. Neville continued without noticing.

"So when Professor Quirrell shouted that there was a troll in the dungeons, and Professor Dumbledore said to go back to our dormitories—I thought that I had to find them and warn them, and Ron came with."

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead by now," said Hermione. "Neville distracted it so Marly could jump on it and stick her wand into its eyeball and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone, it was about to finish Marly and me off when they arrived."

Marly nodded. "I didn't _mean_ to stick my wand in its eye—it just happened."

"Well—in that case…" said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four of them, "Ms. Granger, you should have come to me, I would have dealt with Mr. Weasley. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses."

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Marly, Neville and Ron.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have gotten more than fifteen points," Ron grumbled.

"It's _your_ fault she—and I—were there in the first place," Marly reminded him sharply, "and we might not have needed saving if you two hadn't locked that thing in there with us in the first place."

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Ronald Weasley became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.


	12. Quidditch

**CH 10: QUIDDITCH  
**

_(note: my thoughts and prayers are with those involved in the bombings in Boston yesterday, as well as with the people in the Middle East who also suffered through more bombs yesterday. Americans are self-centered: don't forget about all the people who died in Iraq, too! Only 3 people died in Boston, at least 27 died in Iraq. I'm not trying to make light of the Boston bombs, but it isn't a "Boston's 9/11" as some people are calling it.)  
_

* * *

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy grey and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

As soon as the weather turned cold Draco refused to spend a minute outside that he didn't have to, so their lunches by the lake stopped and Draco went back to sitting alone at the Ravenclaw table, although now that he had been seen in the company of Gryffindors the other Ravenclaws seemed more willing to talk to him, and he started walking around with Terry Boot and Morag MacDougal. Ron was relieved—he didn't like Draco, apparently their families had a long-standing feud—but Marly was disappointed; he had been the first person her own age that she'd spoken to in the magical world.

But she had something else to focus on: the Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Marly would be playing in her first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Marly play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Marly should be kept, well, secret. But the news that she was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Marly didn't know which was worse—people telling her she'd be brilliant or people telling her they'd be running around underneath her with a mattress.

It was really lucky that Marly had Hermione as a best friend. She didn't know how she'd have gotten through all her homework without Hermione, what with all the last-minute Quidditich practice Wood was making them do. Hermione had also lent her _Quidditch Through the Ages_, which turned out to be a very interesting read.

Marly learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert. (Marly decided immediately upon reading about it that she would _never_ become a Quidditch referee).

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Marly, Neville, and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. The day before Marly's first Quidditch match the four of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and Hermione had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Professor Snape crossed the yard. Marly noticed at once that Snape was limping. The four of them moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Professor Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Miss Potter?"

It was _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Marly showed him.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Professor Snape, "weather like this might ruin them. Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"He's just made that rule up," Ron muttered angrily as Professor Snape limped away. "Wonder what's wrong with that leg?"

"Dunno," said Marly, frowning. Professor Snape had never been actively mean to her before, not like he had been to Neville and Ron. And he hadn't once looked at her directly in the eyes since they had fought the troll.

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Marly, Hermione, Neville, and Ron sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Marly and Ron's Charms homework for them, while Neville looked over his own, which she had already gone through. Hermione would never let them copy ("How will you learn?"), but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway—Marly didn't _want_ to copy, she wanted to figure it out for herself, but she didn't have time with Quidditch.

Marly felt restless. She wanted _Quidditch Through the Ages_ back, to take her mind off her nerves about tomorrow. Why should she be afraid of Professor Snape? He'd only ever taken those five points from her—she'd promise him not to take the book outside. Getting up, she told the other three that she was going to ask Professor Snape if she could have it back.

"Better you than me," they said together, but Marly had an idea that Professor Snape wouldn't refuse her if she was alone.

She made her way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps the Potions Professor had left the book in there? It was worth a try. She pushed the door ajar and peered inside—and a horrible scene met her eyes.

Professor Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Professor Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Professor Snape bandages.

"Blasted thing," Professor Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Marly knocked on the door again, trying to make it seem as though she'd accidentally pushed it open as she knocked.

"POTTER!"

Filch's face twisted with fury as Professor Snape dropped his robes to hide his legs. Marly gulped.

"Er—Professor Snape—I was just wondering if I could have my book back, I'm nervous about the match tomorrow—"

"It's been returned to the library, Ms. Potter. Get out."

"GET _OUT_!" Filch snarled, standing and running over the close the door in Marly's face.

Marly left quickly, before Professor Snape changed his mind and took away more points from her. She ran to the library to get the book—Madam Pince eyed her running with disapproval but couldn't say anything because Marly had always been quiet and polite in the library—and sprinted back upstairs.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Marly joined them. "What's the matter?"

In a low whisper, Marly told them what she'd seen. The day after the troll incident, Marly and Hermione had informed Ron about the three-headed dog on the trapdoor, so he was well informed.

Ron gasped. "_That's_ where he was going! On Halloween—me and Neville saw him—"

"That's _Neville and I_, Ronald, not Neville and _me_," interrupted Hermione.

"—fine, _Neville and I_ saw him run up towards the forbidden corridor! He must have tried to get past that three-headed dog! He must be after whatever it's guarding. And I'd bet my broomstick, if I had one, that_ he_ let in that troll, to make a diversion!"

Hermione's eyes were wide.

"No—he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try to steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after?"

Marly shook her head. "No—I don't think he's the one that let in the troll. He's not _nice_ but he's only strict because Potions is a very dangerous subject."

Neville nodded. "Yeah—look what happened to me, that first lesson, I messed up and then got covered in a potion that made me break out in boils. That was painful."

Ron shook his head. "He must be! Who else could it be? Q-Q-Quirrell?" he asked, mocking the young teacher's stutter. "And what else could he have been doing, going up against that dog? What's that dog guarding?"

Marly went to bed with her head buzzing with the same question. Lavender was sleep-talking about fairies ("it's so shiny Mummy!"), but Marly couldn't sleep. She tried to empty her mind—she needed to sleep, she had to, she had her first Quidditch match in a few hours—but the wound on Professor Snape's leg wasn't easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

"I'm not hungry."

Marly felt terrible. In an hour's time she'd be walking onto the field.

"Marly, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnegan. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," said Marly, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Neville, Hermione, and Ron joined Seamus and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Marly, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets that Ron's rat Scabbers had ruined. It said _Potter for President_ and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Marly and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men," he said.

"And women," said Marly and Chaser Angelina Johnson at the same time.

"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred Weasley.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Marly, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Marly followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping her knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were gathered around her. Marly noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth year. Marly thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing _Potter for President_ over the crowd. Her heart skipped. She felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Marly clambered onto her Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood, last year only a reserve—back to Johnson and—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle p there—he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by the Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle—that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and—OUCH—that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger—Quaffle taken by the Slytherins—that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger—sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which—nice play by the Gryfindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes—she's really flying—dodges a speeding Bludger—the goal posts are ahead—come on, now, Angelina—Keeper Bletchley dives—misses—GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filed the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Neville, Ron, and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Marly hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Marly.

Way up above them, Marly was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Sitch. This was part of her and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

When Angelina had scored, Marly had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off her feelings. Now she was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once she caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting her way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Marly dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

"All right there, Marly?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the—wait a moment—was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Marly saw it. In a great rush of excitement she dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch—all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Marly was faster than Higgs—she could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead—she put on an extra burst of speed—

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below—Marcus Flint had blocked Marly on purpose, and Marly's broom spun off course, Marly holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In football you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"This isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Marly outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So—after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"Jordan!"

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul—"

"_Jordan, I'm warning you_—"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Marly dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past her head, that it happened. Her broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, she thought she was going to fall. She gripped the broom tightly with both her hands and knees. She'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck her off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Marly tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal posts—she had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out—and then she realized that her broom was completely out of her control. She couldn't turn it. She couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated her.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession—Flint with the Quaffle—passes Spinnet—passes Bell—hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose—only joking, Professor—Slytherins score—oh no…"

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Marly's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying her slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Marly thinks she's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say she lost contro of her broom…but she can't have…"

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Marly all over the stands. Her broom had started to roll over and over, with her only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Marly's broom had given a wild jerk and Marly swung off it. She was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

Her broom started to vibrate, and whirled around in circles, vibrating so hard that it was almost impossible for her to hold on any longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Marly safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good—every time they got near her, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath her, obviously hoping to catch her if she fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

Marly was about to give up and drop and hope the Weasley twins caught her when suddenly she was able to clamber back on, her broom behaving once more. Shaking, her mouth open in relief, she started toward the ground.

Halfway there something flew into her mouth, and she dove for the ground, clapping her hand to her mouth as it hit her gag reflex and bounced back into her cheeks. The fluttering and buzzing inside her mouth told her exactly what she'd caught; she was close enough to the ground now, she dropped on all fours, coughed the Snitch out, and held it up.

"I've got the Snitch!" she shouted, waving it above her head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"He didn't _catch_ it, he nearly _swallowed_ it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference—Marly hadn't broken any rules, and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results—Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Marly heard none of this, though. She was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Hermione, Neville, and Ron.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione and I saw him—Neville couldn't tear his eyes away from you, Marly. Snape was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Marly, Neville, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Marly decided on the truth.

"I found out something about him," she told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We—well, Ron does, I'm not sure I really believe it—we think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"_Fluffy_?"

"Yeah—he's mine—bought him of a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

"Yes?" said Marly eagely.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hgrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to _steal_ it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Marly?" cried Hermione.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Professor Snape, but Marly still wasn't sure.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Marly's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try and kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—"

"Fine, Hagrid," said Marly, standing up. "We'll leave it alone—we won't try to get past that dog, that's for sure."

"Thank yeh, Marly," said Hagrid, looking vastly relieved.

The four shared a look. Now they knew something else: someone called Nicolas Flamel was involved.


	13. The Mirror of Erised

**CH 11: THE MIRROR OF ERISED  
**

* * *

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowball so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Marly had signed up at once. She didn't feel sorry for herself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas she'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying too, because their parents were going to Romania to visit Ron's older brother Charlie, who worked on a dragon reserve. Neville and Hermione, however, were both going home to celebrate Christmas with their families.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches,

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Nott's slightly nasal voice from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose—that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to.

Hermione and Marly both grabbed one of Ron's arms, preventing him from diving at Nott, just as Professor Snape came up the stairs. His eyes narrowed and he shot Marly an inscrutable look.

"Fighting is against Hogwarts rules," Professor Snape said silkily. "Five points from Gyffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Nott was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may," Professor Snape said softly.

Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Nott's back, "one of these days, I'll get him—"

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the four of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree—put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me—Marly, Neville, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, yes," Marly told him brightly. She knew that Hagrid wouldn't like it if he knew what they were really up to, so she didn't tell him. "Just trying to get all our work done before the holidays begin, that way we're not bogged down with work on Christmas or New Year's."

"Good on yeh," said Hagrid, and they hurried off to the library.

They had been searching books for Nicolas Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Professor Snape might or might not be trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_, or _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_; he was missing, too, from _Important Modern Magical Discoveries_, and _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search and Neville helped her while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Marly wandered over to the Restricted Section. She had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and she knew she'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, girl?"

"Er," said Marly. Hermione, Neville, and Ron had agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel, but Marly didn't agree with their reasoning: they didn't want to risk Professor Snape hearing what they were up to. She was sure that Madam Pince could tell her. "I was looking for a biography of Nicolas Flamel, I haven't found any in the recent history seciton."

Madam Pince snorted. "Well, of course you wouldn't, he's not a part of _recent_ history. I'm afraid I can't help you—there's no biography of Nicholas Flamel, it would take too long to write, he's lived over six hundred years after all. There is a book which describes his work in alchemy, but it was checked out a week ago."

"Can you tell me when it's been returned?" Marly asked, hoping it would be soon.

"Very well—the first time you come to the library after it's been returned, I will let you know."

After thanking her, Marly left the library. She waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found anything, but she wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search.

Five minutes later, Hermione, Neville, and Ron joined her, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron. "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.

"I could ask Gran—she knows almost everyone," said Neville.

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Marly were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork—bread, English muffins, marshmallows—and plotting ways of getting Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Marly wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family—in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Marly played with chessmen Seamus Finnegan had lent her, and they didn't trust her at all. She wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at her, which was confusing. "Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send _him_, we can afford to lose _him_."

On Christmas Eve, Marly went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When she woke early in the morning, however, the first thing she saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of her bed.

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had gone home for the holidays as well, so Marly was alone in her dorm; the packages could only be for her. She wondered who would send her anything—she'd owl-ordered things for her friends, of course, but she hadn't expected anything in return.

Marly picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Marly, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Marly blew it—it sounded a bit like an owl. She set it aside, determined to go down and see him later and ask him to teach her how to play.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

_We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia_. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said Marly, crumbling up the note. She'd sent them a letter saying she wouldn't be home for Christmas holidays, she hadn't thought they'd send a response. And a fifty-pence piece was the best gift they'd ever given her, if she didn't have her own money it would've been enough to get a lolly or something from one of the vendors at King's Cross.

A very lump parcel contained a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge. A note inside said it was from Mr. & Mrs. Weasley, for Ron's friend Marlene Potter. Marly raised her eyebrows; why were they sending her a present that had obviously taken a lot of effort to make? They didn't even know her. Still, it was nice of them, she thought, and the fudge was very tasty when she tried it.

Her next present also contained candy—a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. She grinned; the dentists' daughter, giving her chocolate?

She opened the one which had a note attached saying _From Neville (&Gran)—hope you like it_. It was a little model broomstick and player, dressed in black and white, with a Montrose Magpies poster; Montrose was the team Neville supported, and had convinced Marly to support, too, over Ron's bright orange Chudley Cannons, who were at the bottom of the league. Marly put the poster up on the wall behind her bed with a little Sticking Charm that Hermione had taught her.

The next one was larger and heavier, from Draco, and it contained a large box of mixed sweets from the premier shop in Diagon Alley, as well as a gift voucher for Twilfitt and Tatting's, an upmarket robes shop, which apparently came highly recommended by Draco's mother—_I wouldn't know, I'm not a girl, but you are, I thought you might like to have some nice dress robes or something_, Draco had written. The voucher was enough to buy one set of robes from the fancy shop. Marly snorted and set it aside—as if she'd ever need _dress robes_.

This left only one parcel. Marly picked it up and felt it. It was very light. She unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery grey went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Marly picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"I wonder what kind of cloak _this_ is," she muttered, for it was definitely a cloak; throwing it over her shoulders, she went to see how it looked in the mirror and—_her body had disappeared!_

Marly gasped and dropped the cloak. Immediately her body reappeared, and she gasped again. "It—it must be—an _invisibility cloak_!"

She picked up the cloak again and a slip of parchment fluttered to the floor. She folded the cloak carefully, then seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing she had never seen before were the following words:

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you_.

_Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you_.

There was no signature. Marly stared at the note. She felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to her father?

Before she could say or think anything else, her stomach rumbled and she sighed. "Breakfast time, I suppose," she mumbled. She put the cloak away, in the hidden compartment of her trunk; she didn't want to share it with anyone just yet. Then she pulled on the sweater Mrs. Weasley had sent—she didn't want to seem ungrateful, and it was very comfortable—and headed to the common room.

Fred and George Weasley bounded downstairs, each of them wearing a blue sweater, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G. Ron followed, looking distinctly unhappy in his maroon one (it clashed terribly with his bright red hair).

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look—Marly's got a Weasley sweater!"

George surveyed her. "Marly's is better than ours, though," he said, pinching the shoulder of the sweater and pulling it up. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"What's all this noise?"

Percy Weasley came downstairs as well, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Marly got one."

"I—don't—want—" said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to the side by his sweater.

Marly had never in all her life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce—and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favours were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and flimsy paper hats inside. Marly pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Marly watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Marly's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Marly finally left the table, she was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and her own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Marly had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.

Marly and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Marly broke in her new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. She suspected she wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help her so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor Tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Marly's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of her mind all day. Not until she climbed into bed was she free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and whoever had sent it.

Marly leaned over the side of her bed and pulled the cloak out from her trunk.

Her father's…this had been her father's. She let the material flow over her hands, smoother than silk, light as air. _Use it well_, the note had said.

She had to try it, now. She slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around herself. Looking down at her legs, she saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

_Use it well_.

Suddenly, Marly felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to her in this cloak. Excitement flooded through her as she stood there in the dark and silence. She could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

She crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Marly said nothing. She walked quickly down the corridor.

Where should she go? She stopped, her heart racing, and thought. She knew that there was nothing to be had on Nicholas Flamel in the library—except—Madam Pince hadn't said that, had she? She'd only said that the only book which mentioned his alchemic work had been checked out…The Restricted Section in the library. She'd be able to read as long as she liked, as long as it took for her to find out who Flamel really was. She set off, drawing the Invisibility Cloak tight around her as she walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Marly lit a lamp to see her way along the rows of books—Hermione had tried to teach her the little flame charm, but she hadn't been very successful. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Marly could feel her arm supporting it, the sight gave her the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, she held up her lamp to read the titles.

They didn't tell her much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Marly couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Marly's neck prickled. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe not, but she thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

She had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, she looked along the bottom shelf for a book with a title she could read. A large black and silver volume caught her eye—_The Olde Waye: Druides and Wytches on Myrddin's Path_. She pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on her knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence—the book was screaming! Marly snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. She stumbled backward and knocked over her lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, she heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside—stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, she ran for it. She passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through her, and Marly slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in her ears.

She came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour. She had been so busy getting away from the library, she hadn't paid attention to wear she was going. Perhaps because it was dark, she didn't recognize where she was at all. There was a suit of armour near the kitchens, she knew, but she must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library—Restricted Section."

Marly felt the blood drain out of her face. Wherver she was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice, was getting nearer, and to her horror, it was Professor Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Marly stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Professor Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see her, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into her—the cloak didn't stop her from being solid.

She backed away as quietly as she could. A door stood ajar to her left. It was her only hope. She squeezed through it, holding her breath, trying not to move it, and to her relief she managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Marly leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before she noticed anything about the room she had hidden in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket—but propped against the wall facing her was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the walooked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

Her panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Professor Snape, Marly moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to figure out the inscription. _It's on a mirror…maybe it's backwards…Ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desire…I show…not…your…face…but your…hearts desire…_

"I show not your face but your heart's desire," she whispered, then stepped in front of it and looked.

She had to clap her hands to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She whirled around. Her heart was founding far more furiously than when the book had screamed—for she had seen not only herself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind her.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, she turned slowly back to the mirror.

There she was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind her, were at least ten others. Marly looked over her shoulder—but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible—

_Your heart's desire_, she realized. It didn't show her, it didn't reflect invisible people—it showed her what she most desperately desired.

She looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind her reflection was smiling at her and waving. Marly felt the air around her, just in case—but she felt nothing—the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes—_her eyes are just like mine_, Marly thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green—exactly the same shape, but then Marly noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Marly's did when it was cut short.

Marly was so close to the mirror now that her nose was nearly touching that of her reflection.

"Mom?" she whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at her, smiling. And slowly, Marly looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like hers, other noses like hers, even a little old man who looked as though he had Marly's knobbly knees—Marly was looking at her family, for the first time in her life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Marly and she stared hungrily back at them, tears spilling out of her eyes, her hands pressed flat against the glass as though she was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. She had a powerful kind of ache inside her, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long she stood there, she didn't know. The reflections did not fade and she looked and looked until a distant noise brought her back to her senses. She couldn't stay here, she had to find a way back to bed. She tore her eyes away from her mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

The next morning at breakfast, Marly couldn't eat. She had seen her parents and would be seeing them again tonight—what did anything else matter? She had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if someone stole it, really?

"Are you all right?" said Ron. "You look odd."

Marly told him about the invisibility cloak she'd gotten and her adventure of the night before, talking over his exclamation of jealous surprise. She didn't want to share her parents, so she pretended not to remember where the mirror was.

"Oh well," said Ron, shrugging. "Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

They didn't notice Professor Snape watching them closely and frowning.

Marly didn't remember the exact route she'd taken back from the mirror room—she retraced her steps from the library for nearly an hour, wandering the dark passageways. Her feet, well insulated in her trainers though they were, became numb with cold.

She passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Marly started wishing to go back to the Tower—she was _cold_—she spotted the suit of armour.

"It's here—just here—yes!" Marly pushed the door open and then closed behind her, not caring about being quiet in the excitement of finding it again. She dropped her cloak and ran to the mirror.

There they were. Her mother and father beamed at the sight of her. One of her grandfathers nodded happily. There was nothing to stop her from staying here all night with her family. Nothing at all.

Except—

"So—back again, Ms. Potter?"

Marly felt as though her insides had turned to ice. She looked behind her. Standing in front of one of the desks by the wall was none other than Professor Snape. Marly must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror she hadn't noticed him.

"I—I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how being _invisible_ makes one _blind_," Professor Snape said, his voice low and dangerous. "What are you doing here, Ms. Potter, out of bed after curfew? This is far from Gryffindor Tower."

"I—" Marly's cheeks burned, and she cast a wistful glance back at the mirror. "I came to see my family…my mother and father, I can see them in this mirror…I don't have any pictures of them," she went on, transfixed again by her mother's gaze, and only just managed to tear her eyes away to look at Professor Snape. "This mirror…it shows the heart's desire…and mine is to be with my family, sir."

Professor Snape's expression didn't lighten, but his eyes showed that terrible aching sadness again, and Marly thought she understood.

"You—Professor, did you—" she hesitated, then, "—were you friends with my parents? Did you know them?"

Professor Snape was silent for a long moment, and Marly was beginning to feel as though she'd overstepped her bounds when he finally replied. "Your mother, Ms. Potter—Lily Evans…Lily _Potter_…" He said that as if it were a curse word. "She was my closest friend throughout Hogwarts."

"She was?" Marly asked eagerly. "Can you tell me about her? I can see her in the mirror right now—she was beautiful—"

"Yes, she was," Professor Snape said softly, then his voice hardened. "If you want stories about your parents, Ms. Potter, speak to Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick—I shall only disappoint you, your father was _not_ a friend of mine. It is past curfew, Ms. Potter: five points from Gryffindor. Get back to your dormitory, before I take ten."

Marly scrambled to her feet and grabbed the cloak.

"Oh, and Ms. Potter, the Mirror of Erised will be moved to a new location tomorrow. Do not go looking for it again. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that," Professor Snape told her.

"Thanks, Professor," she mumbled, and then ran.


	14. Nicolas Flamel

**CH 12: NICOLAS FLAMEL  
**

* * *

Professor Snape had convinced Marly not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, but he hadn't stopped her from roaming the rest of Hogwarts, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays, she spent at least an hour a night exploring. Once, she found a secret passageway, the one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that Fred and George had found in _their_ first year—but halfway through it there was pile-up of dirt and stone from an old cave-in that she couldn't get over, and she dismissed the tunnel as not worth the effort. Marly wished she could forget what she'd seen in the mirror as easily, but she couldn't. She started having nightmares. Over and over again she dreamed about her parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.

Marly hadn't told Ron that she'd gone back to see the mirror a second night, but when she told him of the nightmares, he thought—rightly so—that the mirror was the cause. "That mirror could drive anyone mad, I think," he said in a rare moment of wisdom, "showing only what you most desire—wouldn't anyone want to stay and look in it forever?"

Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Marly being out of bed, roaming the school almost every night ("If Filch had caught you!"), and disappointment that she hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Marly was still sure she'd read the name somewhere. Whenever she asked, Madam Pince told Marly that the book was still checked out. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Marly had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch had started again.

Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Marly was on Wood's side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the House Championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Marly found that she had fewer nightmares when she was tired out after training.

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.

"Will you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points of Gryffindor!"

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.

"_Snape's_ refereeing?" he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."

The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.

"It's not _my_ fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the end of practice, and Marly talked a bit with Katie Bell, the only second-year on the team. Then Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, the other Chasers, called Katie over. Marly headed back to the Gryffindor common room, where she found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Marly and Ron thought was very good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Marly sat down next to him, "I need to concentrate."

Hermione frowned at Marly. "What happened? You took your time coming back."

Marly shrugged. "I talked with Katie for a bit after practice. Oh, and…" Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Marly told the other two about Professor Snape's sudden desire to be a Quidditch referee. "I don't like it, he won't be fair to our team, he hates Gryffindor."

"Hates _Gryffindor_? Marly, he tried to kill you last time you played! Don't play," said Hermione at once.

"Say you're ill," said Ron.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

"_Really_ break your leg," said Ron.

"I can't," said Marly. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all. Besides, Madam Pomfrey would fix it in a blink, just like Nev's wrist. Where is he, anyway?"

At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione and Marly. Hermione leapt up and performed the countercurse. His legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling

"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Marly and Ron.

"Nott," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice on. Crabbe and Goyle were there, too."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"

Neville shook his head.

"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Nott's done that already," Neville choked out.

Marly felt in the pocket of her robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given her for Christmas. She gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

"You're worth twelve of Nott," Marly said. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Nott? In stinking Slytherin."

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.

"Thanks, Marly..I think I'll go to bed…d'you want the card?"

As Neville walked away, Marly looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," she said, "He was the first one I ever—"

She gasped. She stared at the back of the card. Then she looked up at Ron and Hermione.

"_I've found him_!" she whispered. "I've found Flamel! I _told_ you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here—listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, _and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel_'!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.

"Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to their dormitory. Marly and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

Marly frowned suspiciously. _That must be the book Madam Pince told me about_, she thought. "So you're the one who checked it out, Madam Pince recommended it to me, she said that's the only book with a substantial record of Flamel's work in alchemy."

"_Light_?" said Ron, but Hermione told them to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I _knew _it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him, which made Marly have to swallow a laugh.

"Nicolas Flamel," Hermione whispered dramatically, "is the _only known maker of the Sorceror's Stone_!"

This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.

"The what?" said Marly and Ron.

"Oh, _honestly_, don't you two read? Look—read that, there."

She pushed the book toward them, and Marly and Ron read:

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal._

_There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight)._

"See?" said Hermione, when Marly and Ron had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Marly. "_Anyone_ would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that _Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

"You'd better go tell Neville about this," said Marly. "That is, if he hasn't fallen asleep yet."

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Marly, Neville, and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Philosopher's Stone if they had one (and knew how to use it). It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Marly remembered about Professor Snape and the coming match.

"I'm going to play," she told the other three. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Professor Snape. I'll show them…it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione.

As the match drew nearer, however, Marly became more and more nervous, whatever she told Hermione, Neville, and Ron. The rest of the team wasn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the House Championship was wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?

Marly didn't know whether she was imagining it or not, but she seemed to keep running into Professor Snape wherever she went. At times, she even wondered whether the Potions Master was following her, trying to catch her with the Mirror of Erised again. Potions lessons weren't completely torture; but while Professor Snape didn't outright ignore her, he certainly didn't help her. By contrast, he seemed to be treating every other Gryffindor horribly. Could Professor Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Philosopher's Stone? Marly didn't see how he could, unless Madam Pince had told him—yet she sometimes had the horrible feeling that Professor Snape could read minds.

Marly knew, when they wished her good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Neville, Ron, and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see her alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Marly hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as she pulled on her Quidditch robes and picked up her Nimbus Two Thousand.

Hermione, Neville, and Ron, meanwhile, had place a place in the stands next to Dean and Seamus, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had brought their wands to the match. Little did Marly know that Hermione, Neville, and Ron had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Nott using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Professor Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Marly.

"Now, don't forget, it's _Locomotor Mortis_," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve. Neville gripped his tightly, knuckles white.

"I _know_," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."

Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Marly aside.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff too much."

"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out the door. "Even—blimey—Dumbledore's come to watch!"

Marly's heart did a somersault.

"_Dumbledore_?" she said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.

Marly could have laughed out loud with relief. She was safe. There was simply no way that whoever had cursed her broom last game—whether it was Snape or someone else—could hurt him, they wouldn't dare, not with Dumbledore watching.

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," Ron told Hermione and Neville. "Look—they're off. Ouch!"

Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Nott.

"Oh, sorry, Weasel, didn't see you there."

Nott grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasel?"

Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Marly, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Quidditch team?" said Nott loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money—you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Nott.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Nott," he stammered.

Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Draco, who appeared quite suddenly, sneered at Nott. "Maybe youshould try out, Nott—you've got no _chance_."

Nott looked a bit taken aback.

"Look!" said Hermione suddenly, "Marly—!"

"What? Where?"

Marly had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Marly streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasel, Potter must have spotted some Galleons on the ground!" said Nott.

Ron snapped. Before Nott knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help. Draco sighed loudly, then nonchalantly waved his wand and said a spell. The brawling boys fell down, all of them with their legs stuck together.

"There _are_ teachers present," Draco reminded them, and after a moment muttered the counter-curse for Neville and Ron. "Sorry, meant to just get Nott, but then I realized it wouldn't be fair, you two whaling on him without a chance for him to fight back."

"Come on, Marly!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Marly sped straight at Snape—she didn't even notice the stare-down between Nott and Draco.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches—the next second, Marly had pulled out of the dive, her arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in her hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

Marly jumped off her broom, a foot from the ground. She couldn't believe it. She'd done it—the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, she saw Professor Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped—then Marly felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory, grinning at her.

"Well done, Potter!" he exclaimed. "That had to be the fastest catch in the history of Hogwarts—I hadn't even spotted it yet. You should think about going professional!"

Marly blushed. "I'm only in first year, still," she protested.

"No, really! I'd bet you my broomstick that by the time your fifth year rolls about, you'll have scouts coming from every team around!"

She shrugged. "Well, maybe…"

Marly left the locker room alone some time later, to take her Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. She couldn't ever remember feeling happier. She'd really done something to be proud of now—no one could say she was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. She walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in her head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift her onto their shoulders; Draco, Hermione, Neville, and Ron in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.

Marly had reached the shed. She leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. She'd done it, she'd shown Slytherin…shown Snape…

And speaking of Snape…

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the Forbidden Forest. Marly's victory faded from her mind as she watched. She recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner—what was going on?

Marly jumped back on her Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle she saw Snape entering the forest at a run. She followed.

The trees were so thick she couldn't see where Snape had gone. She flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until she heard voices. She glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

She climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to her broomstick, trying to see through the leaves.

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Marly couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Marly strained to catch what they were saying.

"…d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…"

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."

Marly leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I—"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him.

"I-I don't know what you—"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted loudly, and Marly nearly fell out of the tree. She steadied herself in time to hear Snape say, "—your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't—"

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

He threw the cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Marly could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

Marly swallowed. After hearing that conversation, it was very hard for her to keep her conviction that Snape wasn't the one after the Stone.

"_Marlene_, where have you_ been_?" Hermione squeaked.

"We won! You won! We won!" shouted Ron, thumping Marly on the back. "And I gave Nott a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! Good thing Draco stopped us or Neville would be out cold—talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now," said Marly breathlessly. "Get Nev—and Draco—let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this…"

She made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then she told them what she'd seen and heard.

"So we were right, it _is_ the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy—and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus-pocus'—I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark spell that Snape needs to break through—"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Draco.


	15. Dragonspeaker

**CH 13: DRAGONSPEAKER  
**

* * *

Quirrell, however, must have been braver than they'd thought. In the weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn't look as though he'd cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Marly and her friends would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that that Stone was still safe. Whenever Marly passed Quirrell these days she gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter. Draco had written to his mother (his father, apparently, had stopped speaking to him when he was Sorted into Ravenclaw) and asked for a book on magical traps—they planned to litter the third-floor corridor with them, and key them so only Hagrid could get through to feed Fluffy.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Philosopher's Stone. She had started drawing up study schedules and colour-coding all her notes. Marly, Neville, and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the same.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away."

"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her. "Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all."

"What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me."

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or practicing wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Marly, Neville, and Ron spent most of their free time in the library with her, trying to get through all their extra work.

"I'll never remember this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue, and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.

Marly, who was looking up "Dittany" in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, didn't look up until she heard Ron say, "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

"Jus' lookin'," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer not lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh—" Ron started, but Marly kicked him in the shin and smiled sweetly at Hagrid. Ron yelped and grabbed his leg, glaring at her.

"No, of course not," she said. "Although we did have some things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact."

"'Bout what?" he asked, still suspicious.

"Well," Marly glanced around conspicuously, "it's not exactly private here, is it?"

Hagrid's beetle eyes widened. "Oh, yeah! Listen—come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind—don' go rabbitin' about it in here, they'll think I've told yeh—"

"See you later, then," said Neville.

Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" said Hermione thoughtfully.

"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, who'd had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

"_Dragons_!" he whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide_."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, Professor McGonagall told me so," said Marly.

"But it's against our laws," said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden—anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in _Britain_?" said Marly.

"Of course there are," said Neville. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Black. A couple of them used to hang around Longbottom Manor, I think they were hoping for handouts."

"The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you," Ron added. "Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what on earth's Hagrid up to?" said Hermione.

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called "Who is it?" before he let them in, and then shut the door quickly behind them.

It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

"So—yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," said Marly. She didn't want to beat around the bush, but coaxing secrets out of people took patience, cunning, and tact. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Stone—well, apart from Fluffy, he's obviously the best protection of course."

Hagrid frowned at her, but he looked a bit pleased that she thought Fluffy was such a good guardian.

"O' course I can't," he said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts—I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

"Those stairs move around a lot, Hagrid," Neville said. "We were running from Filch one night—er—probably shouldn't have said that—"

Hagrid laughed. "Oh, don' worry 'bout it, Neville, I won' tell on yeh. Yer father used ter go out after curfew all the night, an' yours, too, Marly."

Marly perked up; her father had been a troublemaker? _Maybe I ought to keep up the tradition,_ she thought.

"See, Hagrid, you know everything that goes on round here," said Hermione in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling. "We only wondered who had _done_ the guarding, really." Hermione went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Marly, Neville and Ron beamed at Hermione.

"Well, I don' s'ppose it could hurt ter tell yeh that…let's see…he borrowed Fluffy from me…then some o' the teachers did enchantments…Professor Sprout—Professor Flitwick—Professor McGonagall—" he ticked them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell—an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

"_Snape_?"

"Yeah—yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped _protect_ the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

Marly knew the other three were thinking the same as she was. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything—except, it seemed, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fluffy.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren't you, Hagrid?" said Marly anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.

"Well, that's something," Marly muttered to the others. "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling."

"Can't, Marly, sorry," said Hagrid. Marly noticed him glancing at the fire. Marly looked at it, too.

"Hagrid—what's _that_?"

But she already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, "That's—er…"

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"Hagrid," said Neville, a strange look on his face. "Doesn't it seem strange that someone just happened to have a dragon's egg? What did he look like?"

"Well, no," said Hagrid. "Yeh get all sorts in the Hog's Head—that's one o' the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

Mary got a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, catching on to what Neville meant.

"What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. "Yeah…he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here…He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after…so I told him…an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon…an' then…I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks…let's see…yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted…but he had ter be sure I could hand;e it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home…so I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…"

"And did he—did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Marly asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Well—yeah—how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep—"

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

"Blimey—I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it!"

The four traded looks, and Hermione changed the subject back to the dragon. "What are you going to do with it once it's hatched?"

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," said Hagrid, looking relieved as he pulled a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library—_Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_—it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here—how ter recognize diff'rent eggs—what I got there's a Norwegian Rideback. They're rare, them."

He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't.

"Hagrid, you live in a _wooden house_," she said.

But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire. Marly thought she heard a small voice in the fire—"_warm—yum—warm_—" but then she shook her head; fires didn't _talk_.

So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.

"I don't think we have to worry about the Stone as long as Dumbledore is here," said Hermione, "Even You-Know-Who was afraid of him, nobody can stand against him."

Marly nodded. "Yeah, and besides, we've got to help him with that dragon first…if we tell Dumbledore about the Stone, then he'll have to go talk to Hagrid about Fluffy, and then he'll find out about the dragon…"

"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed.

Evening after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were getting. Hermione had now started making study schedules for Marly, Neville, and Ron, too. It was driving them nuts, even Neville, who was usually very appreciative of her efforts.

Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Marly another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: _It's hatching_.

Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione and Neville wouldn't hear of it.

"C'mon, Neville, Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"

"I want to go, but I don't want to skip Herbology," said Neville.

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing—" Hermione began.

"Shut up!" Marly whispered.

Pansy Parkinson, the pug-faced Slytherin, was only a few feet away and she had stopped dead to listen. How much had she heard? Marly didn't like the look on Parkinson's face at all.

Ron and Hermione argued all the way down to Herbology and in the end, Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the other three during morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the four of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them, looking flushed and excited.

"It's nearly out." He ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.

They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Marly thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

"Isn't he _beautiful_?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid was about to answer when the colour suddenly drained from his face—he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains—it's a kid, no, two of 'em—they're runnin' back up ter the school."

Marly bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking them.

Nott and Parkinson had seen the dragon.

Something about the smile lurking on Nott's face during the next week made Marly, Neville, Hermione, and Ron very nervous. They spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

"Just let him go," Marly urged. "Set him free."

"I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him too busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

The dragon's head turned in Hagrid's direction, and it said in a quite clearly feminine voice, "Mummy!"

Marly's jaw dropped open. "Hagrid! You didn't say he could talk! How long has he been talking?"

"You've lost your marbles," Ron muttered.

Hagrid looked puzzled. "He ain't talkin'—wish 'e could, though, that'd be great, wouldn't it Norbert?"

"Mummy!" The dragon waddled over to Hagrid and bit his hand in what Marly thought to be an affectionate action.

"But—he just said—he just called you Mummy," she said. She addressed Norbert directly, "Didn't you? Do you know how to speak?"

The dragon's head whipped around to stare at her. Everyone else was staring at her, too, their faces pale.

"Speak!" Norbert demanded. "Hungry! Food!"

"See, he's hungry," Marly said, looking back up. "Didn't you hear him? He's speaking English."

"No, he's not," said Hermione.

"You're a _parseltongue_," Ron said, looking horrified. "Only Dark wizards are parseltongues!"

"The last one was _You-Know-Who_," said Neville.

"What?" Marly said, blank. Then she remembered—parseltongue meant she could speak to snakes. "But—Norbert's not a snake—"

"He's a Norwegian Ridgeback," said Hagrid, "they're rare, them, maybe this is why."

"I've got to look it up," said Hermione.

"Hungry!" the dragon repeated impatiently.

"He's hungry, anyway," said Marly. "Give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house, Hagrid. Parkinson and Nott could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bit his lip.

"I—I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, can't."

"Charlie," Ron said suddenly. "He'll know what we can do with Norbert…he's on a dragon reserve. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" said Marly. "How about it, Hagrid?"

And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

In the library that afternoon, Marly found Hermione researching dragons instead of studying (for once).

"What have you found?" Marly asked.

"Not much," said Hermione, flipping the book she was reading to a certain page and pushing it toward Marly. "Dragons are a class five magical creature, not many people do research on them. But see—look—there's a mention here, the Norwegian Ridgeback, the Hungarian Horntail, and the Peruvian Vipertooth are all grouped together, they're closely related to snakes. I wonder if you could understand them, too?"

"Who knows," said Marly. "No way to try it, anyway, I doubt I'll meet another dragon again."

_Although_, she thought, _working on a dragon reserve sounds a lot more appealing now_.

The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione, Neville, and Marly sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off Marly's Invisibility Cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

"It bit me!" he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

"You'd better go see Madam Pomfrey about that, Ron, dragon bites can be really bad," said Neville. "She won't tell, she's taken the oaths."

Ron shrugged. "It's not that bad—I'll go tomorrow."

There was a tap on the dark window.

"It's Hedwig!" said Marly, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have Charlie's answer!"

The four of them put their heads together to read the note.

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter—I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love,_

_Charlie_

They looked at one another.

"We've got the Invisibility Cloak," said Marly. "It shouldn't be too difficult—I think the cloak's big enough to cover two of us and Norbert."

It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other three agreed with her. Anything to get rid of Norbert—and Nott.

There was a hitch. By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size. He hesitated going to Madam Pomfrey, though—would she recognize a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as if Norbert's fangs were venomous.

Marly, Neville, and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.

"It's not just my hand," he whispered, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Nott told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me—I've told her that it was one of the Snapping Geraniums, but I don't think she believes me—I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

Marly, Neville, and Hermione tried to calm Ron down.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Hermione, but this didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no—oh no—I've just remembered—Charlie's letter was in that book Nott took, he's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

The other three didn't get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed to sleep.

"It's too late to change the plan now," Marly told Hermione and Neville. "We haven't got time to send Charlie another owl, and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we _have_ got the Invisibility Cloak, Nott doesn't know about that."

"I'll try to keep watch on him," Neville said bravely.

They found Fang the boarhound sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them.

"I won't let you in," he puffed. "Norbert's at a tricky stage—nothin' I can't handle."

When they told him about Charlie's letter, his eyes filled with tears, although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

"Play, Mummy," the dragon whined. "Hungry—Mummy—play!"

"Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot—jus' playin'—he's only a baby, after all."

"He's hungry," Marly told Hagrid.

The baby banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. The three of them walked back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn't come quickly enough.

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say good-bye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd hat to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he'd been playing tennis against the wall.

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid in a muffled voice. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely."

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Marly as though the teddy was having its head torn off.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, as Marly and Hermione covered the crate with the Invisibility Cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. "Mummy will never forget you!"

Norbert stopped ripping up the teddy bear. "Mummy? Where go? Dark! Dark, Mummy!" he whined. "Dark!"

Marly winced. "He's going to miss you, Hagrid," she said, then to Hermione, "I hope he doesn't wake the whole castle."

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never knew. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Up another staircase, then another—even one of Marly's shortcuts didn't make the work much easier.

"Nearly there!" Marly panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate. Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Nott and Parkinson by the ears.

"Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you—"

"You don't understand, Professor. Marlene Potter's coming—she's got a dragon!"

"Twenty points _each_! What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on—I shall tell Professor Snape about you two!"

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again. Hermione did a sort of jog.

"Nott and Parkinson got detention! I could sing!"

"Don't," Marly advised her.

Chuckling about the unfortunate Slytherins, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his crate and whining pitifully for Hagrid. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness.

Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. They showed Marly and Hermione the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Marly and Hermione shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

At last, Norbert was going…going…_gone_.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as their hands, now that Norbert was off them, and Marly stuffed the cloak in one pocket. No more dragon—Nott and Parkinson in detention—what could spoil their happiness?

The answer to that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch's face loomed suddenly out of the darkness.

"Well, well, well," he whispered, "we _are_ in trouble."


	16. The Forbidden Forest

**CH 14: THE FORBIDDEN FOREST  
**

* * *

Things couldn't have been worse.

Filch took them down to Professor McGonagall's study on the first floor, where they sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Hermione was trembling. Excuses, alibis, and wild cover-up stories chased each other around Marly's brain, each more feeble than the last. She couldn't see how they were going to get out of trouble this were cornered. How could they have been so stupid as to forget to put on the cloak? There was no reason on earth that Professor McGonagall would accept for their being out of bed and creeping around the school in the dead of night, let alone being up the tallest Astronomy Tower, which was out-of-bounds except for classes. Add Norbert and the Invisibility Cloak, and they might as well be packing their bags already.

Had Marly thought that things couldn't have been worse? She was wrong. When Professor McGonagall appeared, she was leading Neville.

"Marly!" Neville burst out, the moment he saw the other two. "I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Nott saying he was going to catch you, but you weren't where I ex—"

Marly shook her head violently to shut Neville up, but Professor McGonagall had seen. She looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert as she towered over the three of them.

"I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr. Filch says you were up in the Astronomy Tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. _Explain yourselves_."

It was the first time Hermione had ever failed to answer a teacher's questions. She was staring at her slippers, as still as a statue.

"I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor McGonagall. "It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get them out of bed and into trouble. I've already caught them. And you enlisted Longbottom here to keep _watch_ for you."

Marly caught Neville's eye and tried to tell him without words that she was sorry it had gone wrong. Poor Neville—Marly knew what it must have cost him to try and find them in the dark, to warn them. _We should have thought of a way he could warn us if something went wrong_.

"I'm disgusted," said Professor McGonagall. "Five students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom, I thought you had more sense. As for you, Ms. Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All three of you will receive three detentions—_nothing_ gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it's dangerous—and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor."

Marly winced but didn't dare voice any dissent—they would lose the lead she'd won in the last Quidditch match. If she said anything, Professor McGonagall might take off _more_.

Neville and Hermione both let out little squeaks of dismay, but they didn't say anything either.

"Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students," said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through her long, pointed nose.

Fifty points lost. That put Gryffindor in third place. Marly felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. They might be able to make up for this…but it wouldn't be easy.

Marly didn't sleep all night. She could hear Hermione sobbing into her pillow for what seemed like hours. Marly couldn't think of anything to say to comfort her. She knew Hermione, like herself, was dreading the dawn. What would happen when the rest of Gryffindor found out what they'd done?

At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the House points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly have fifty points fewer than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Marlene Potter, the famous Marlene Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them those points, her and a couple of other stupid first years.

From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Marly was suddenly barely tolerated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the House Cup. Everywhere Marly went, people pointed and didn't trouble to lower their voices as they insulted him. The Slytherins didn't seem to care one way or the other, as they had been lowered to second place thanks to Nott and Parkinson losing forty points.

Outside of the ones who had been out that night, only Draco and Ron stood by them.

"They'll all forget this in a few weeks," Draco told them confidently.

"Yeah," said Ron. "Fred and George had lost loads of points in all the time they've been here, and people still like them."

"They've never lost fifty points in one go, though, have they?" said Marly miserably.

"Well—no," Ron admitted. "But they've come close, I think they lost twenty points each once for throwing dungbombs in a teacher's office, I forget which though."

It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Marly swore to herself not to meddle in things that weren't her business from now on. She'd had it with sneaking around and spying. She felt so ashamed of herself that she went to Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team.

"_Resign_?" Wood thundered. "What good'll that do? How are we going to get any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?"

But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn't speak to Marly during practice, and if they had to speak about her, they called her "the Seeker."

Hermione and Neville were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time as Marly, because they weren't as well-known, but nobody would speak to them, either. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to herself in class, keeping her head down and working in silence.

Marly was almost glad that the exams weren't far away. All the studying she had to do kept her mind off her misery. She, Hermione, Neville, Draco, and Ron kept to themselves, working late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart, memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions…

Then, about a week before the exams were due to start, Marly's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern her was put to an unexpected test. Walking to the library to meet up with Draco, Ron, and Hermione one day, she heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As she drew closer, she heard Quirrell's voice.

"No—no—not again—please—"

It sounded as though someone was threatening him. Marly moved closer.

"All right—all right—" she heard Quirrell sob.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight; Marly didn't think Quirrell had even noticed her. She waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. Marly was halfway toward it before she remembered what she'd promised herself about not meddling.

All the same, as reluctant as she was to admit Professor Snape was trying to get the Stone, after what she had overheard in the Forbidden Forest earlier that year—she'd have gambled twelve Philosopher's Stones that Snape had just left the room. From what Marly had just heard, Snape would be walking with a new spring in his step—Quirrell seemed to have given in at last.

Marly hurried to the library, where Hermione was testing Ron and Draco on Astronomy. Marly told them what she'd heard.

"Snape's done it, then!" said Ron. "If Quirrell's told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell—"

"There's still Fluffy, though," said Hermione.

"No, there isn't," said Draco. "Don't you remember how you said Hagrid got that dragon's egg?"

"And even if we were wrong," said Ron, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them, "I bet there's a book somewhere here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do we do, Marly?"

The light of adventure was kindling again in Ron's eyes, but Hermione answered before Marl could.

"Go to Dumbledore. That's what we should have done ages ago—when we found out that Hagrid gave away Fluffy's secret for an illegal dragon. If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

"But we've got no _proof_!" said Marly. "Quirrell's too scared to back us up. Professor Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor—who do you think they'll believe, him or us? Filch wouldn't help us if his life depended on it, he's too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, he'll think. And don't forget, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot of explaining."

Draco nodded his agreement, and Hermione looked convinced, but Ron didn't.

"If we just do a bit of poking around—"

"No," said Marly flatly, "we've done enough poking around."

She pulled a map of Jupiter toward herself and started to go over the names of its moons.

The following morning, notes were delivered to Marly, Hermione, and Neville at the breakfast table. They were all the same:

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight._

_Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall._

_Professor M. McGonagall_

Marly had forgotten they still had detentions to do in the furor over the points they'd lost. She half expected Hermione to complain that this was a whole night of studying lost, but she didn't say a word. Like Marly and Neville, she felt they deserved what they got.

At eleven o'clock that night, they said good-bye to Ron in the common room and went down to the entrance hall. Filch was already there—and so were Nott and Parkinson. Marly had also forgotten that they'd gotten detention, too.

"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he said, leering at them. "Oh yes…hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me…It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out…hang you by your wrists form the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed…Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

They marched off across the dark grounds. Neville kept sniffing. Marly wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something really horrible, or Filch wouldn't be sounding so delighted.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Marly could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Marly's heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it wouldn't be so bad. Her relief must have showed in her face, because Filch said, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying youself with that oaf? Well, think again, girl—it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

At this, Neville let out a little moan, and Parkinson stopped dead in her tracks.

"The forest?" she repeated, her voice shrill with fear. "We can't go in there at night—there's all sorts of things in there—werewolves, I heard."

Neville clutched the sleeve of Marly's robe and made a choking noise.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying a large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Marly, Nev, Hermione?"

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch coldly, "they're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, "for what's left of them," he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Nott turned to Hagrid.

"I'm not going in that forest," he said, and Marly felt a bit guilty for being pleased at the note of panic in his voice.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do," said Parksinson, her voice still shrill with fear. "I thought we'd be copying lines or something."

"Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer parents'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!"

Nott and Parkinson didn't move. Nott looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his gaze.

"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."

He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Nott, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've been staggerin' around since last night at least."

"I want Fang," said Nott quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.

"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid. "So me, Neville, Marly, an' Hermione'll go one way an' Pansy, Theodore an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now—that's it—an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh—so, be careful—let's go."

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Hagrid's group took the left path while Parkinson, Nott, and Fang took the right.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

Marly saw that Hagrid looked very worried.

"_Could_ a werewolf be killing the unicorns?" Marly asked.

"Not fast enough," said Hagrid. "It's not easy ter catch a unicorn, they're powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before."

They walked past a mossy tree stump. Marly could hear running water, there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

"You all right, Hermione, Neville?" Hagrid whispered. "Don' worry, it can't've gone far if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter—GET BEHIND THAT TREE!"

Hagrid seized Marly and Hermione and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak, and Neville scrambled to follow, whimpering slightly. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The four of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

"I knew it," he murmured. "There's summat in here that shouldn' be."

"A werewolf?" Neville asked.

"It's not the full moon 'til next week, Neville. That wasn' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither," said Hagrid grimly. "Right, follow me, but careful, now."

They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called. "Show yerself—I'm armed!"

And into the clearing came—was it a man, or a horse? To the waist, a man, with red hair and beard, but below that was a horse's gleaming chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Marly and Hermione's jaws dropped, and Neville swallowed silently.

"Oh, it's you, Ronan," said Hagrid in relief. "How are yeh?"

He walked forward and shook the centaur's hand.

"Good evening to you, Hagrid," said Ronan. He had a deep, sorrowful voice. "Were you going to shoot me?"

"Can't be too careful, Ronan," said Hagrid, patting his crossbow. "There's summat bad loose in this forest. This is Marlene Potter, Hermione Granger, an' Neville Longbottom, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this is Ronan, you two. He's a centaur."

"We'd noticed," said Hermione faintly.

"Good evening," said Ronan. "Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?"

"Erm—"

"A bit," said Hermione timidly.

"A bit. Well, that's something." Ronan sighed. He flung back his head and stared at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, glancing up, too. "Listen, I'm glad we've run into yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt—you seen anythin'?"

Ronan didn't answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward, then sighed again.

"Always the innocent are the first victims," he said. "So it has been for ages past, so it is now."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "but have yeh seen anythin', Ronan? Anythin' unusual?"

"Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeated, while Hagrid watched him impatiently. "Unusually bright."

"Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer home," said Hagrid. "So yeh haven't noticed anythin' strange?"

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, "The forest hides many secrets."

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and -bodied and wilder-looking than Ronan.

"Hullo, Bane," said Hagrid. "All right?"

"Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?"

"Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan, you seen anythin' odd in here lately? There's a unicorn bin injured—would yeh know anythin' about it?"

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward.

"Mars is bright tonight," he said simply.

"We've heard," said Hagrid grumpily. "Well, if either of you do see anythin', let me know, won't yeh? We'll be off, then."

Marly, Hermione, and Neville followed him out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view.

"Never," said Hagrid irritably, "try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon."

"Are there many of _them_ in there?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, a fair few…Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they're good enough about turnin' up if ever I want a word. They're deep, mind, centaurs…they know things…jus' don' let on much."

"D'you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?" said Marly.

"Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what's bin killin' the unicorns—never heard anythin' like it before."

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Marly kept looking nervously over her shoulder. She had the nasty feeling they were being watched. She was very glad they had Hagrid and his crossbow with them. They passed a bend in the path and the blood started coming in smaller patches—it looked as though it was drying up. They went a bit further and found a clearing where there had clearly been a scuffle; the ground was all trampled and torn up and there were deep gouges in the trees. There was a spray of dried unicorn's blood to one side.

"Look's like we found the start o' the trail," said Hagrid grimly. "Look around a bit, will yeh? See if yeh can find anythin'."

Neville stuck close to Hagrid, only poking around in the bushes a bit, but Marly made Hermione come with her to the other side of the clearing, where there was less evidence of battle. She brushed aside a large fern to find a trail of broken plants, but no blood.

"I've found something, Hagrid," she called. "I don't know what…but something was here, see, look at all these trampled plants."

Hagrid came over, Neville tagging along, and squatted down to peer at the ground. "Yer right 'bout that, Marly. Summat small…smaller than a unicorn, at least." He lifted his crossbow and followed the broken plants cautiously, Hermione, Marly, and Neville creeping behind him with their wands out.

"Oh!" Hagrid exclaimed suddenly, and lowered his crossbow. "Come here, help me with 'er, I can't reach in there."

They had reached a vast old stump, with the rest of the tree mostly rotted away behind it. It looked as though it had been struck by lightning and splintered. There was a small gap between the stump and the ground, and inside was a small, dirty animal. Marly came closer, dropping on her hands and knees to get a closer look.

It was a baby unicorn.

"Nev—Hermione—you've got to see this," she said in a hushed voice, putting her wand away and crawling toward the young foal. Underneath all the dirt, it looked golden; Marly wondered why, she'd always thought that unicorns were white.

"She looks hungry," said Hermione, also on her hands and knees. "Hagrid, do you have anything?"

"I have some apples—wait a minute, I'll find summat—" Hagrid rummaged around in his moleskin overcoat, withdrawing a lot of junk (some gobstones, a torn Famous Wizards card, a mess that could have been some chewing gum) before finally pulling out a handful of small, unbruised apples. "'Ere, Hermione, try this."

Hermione and Marly both took an apple, and managed to coax the foal out of its hidey-hole to eat them. Then Hagrid gave Neville his crossbow (he staggered under the weight) and scooped up the unicorn gently. Once it was cradled in one arm he took the crossbow back.

"Right, let's go, we've gotta get ter its mother soon," said Hagrid, and they hurried back to the path. They followed the silvery blood of the unicorn for more than half an hour when suddenly there was a terrible scream from further ahead.

"AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

They hastened their steps, nearly running now but for the roots that kept trying to trip them up. Fang came bolting out of nowhere, yelping fearfully, his tail between his legs; a moment later Nott, and Parkinson appeared also, looking terrified.

"Back there—" Nott puffed. "Back there—the unicorn—it's dead. There was something—something—something _drinking_ from it, drinking its blood!"

Parkinson looked awed at the baby unicorn in Hagrid's arm. "Is that its baby? Is it an orphan now?"

"Prob'ly," said Hagrid regretfully. "Wish I'd bin faster—maybe her mother wouldn't be dead. Come on, let's go, now I know where she is I can bury her meself tomorrow."

They had stopped moving when Nott and Parkinson appeared. They started walking again now, heading back towards Hogwarts. The Slytherins stayed silent, perhaps still fearful of whatever killed the unicorn—whatever had been drinking from it.

Neville, however, was not quiet; he walked in between Hermione and Marly and whispered to them. "Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"No," said Marly, startled by the odd question. "Why would I? We only use the horn and tail hair in Potions."

"That's because it's a cursed thing, to kill a unicorn," said Neville. "Only someone who had nothing to lose would do it. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive even if you're an inch from death, but only a half-life, a cursed life, from the first drop of blood."

Marly stared at Neville.

"But who'd be that desperate?" she wondered. "If you're going to be cursed forever, death's better, isn't it?"

"Yeah," agreed Hermione, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else—something that will bring you back to full strength and power. Something that will mean you can never die." She was very pale.

"The Elixir of Life," whispered Marly. "Of course. But who would—"

"Someone who's waited many years to return to power," said Neville with fear in his voice. "Someone who's clung to life, awaiting his chance…"

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Marly's heart. Over the rustling of the trees, she seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told her on the night they had met: "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."

"Do you mean," Marly croaked, "that was _Vol—_"

"Right, here we are," said Hagrid cheerfully, and Marly blinked, surprised to see the edge of the forest and Hogwarts just a bit further, a few windows brightly lit. "I'll take care of this little 'un, you all go on back to Hogwarts and to bed. I'll let Filch and Professor McGonagall know tomorrow that you've done yer detentions."

Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Marly roughly shook him awake. In a matter of seconds, though, he was wide-eyed as Marly told him what had happened in the forest.

Marly couldn't sit down. She paced up and down in front of the fire. She was still shaking.

"Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort…and Voldemort's waiting in the forest…and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…"

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them, and Neville nodded fervently in agreement.

Marly wasn't listening.

"I've got to look up what Mars means…the centaurs said that Mars was bright tonight, it's got to mean something…it must show that Voldemort's coming back…"

"_Will you stop saying the name_!" Ron hissed.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Marly went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off…"

Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

"Marly, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore, but when Marly went to sleep, she dreamt again of a bright flash of green light and a high, cruel laugh—and this time, there was silvery unicorn blood dripping from something.


	17. Through the Trapdoor

**CH 15: THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR  
**

* * *

In years to come, Marly would never quite remember how she managed to get through her exams when she half expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and there could be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.

They had practical exams, as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox—points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away it if had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.

Marly did the best she could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in her forehead, which had been bothering her ever since her trip into the forest. Lavender thought Marly had a bad case of exam nerves because Marly couldn't sleep, but the truth was that Marly kept being woken by her old nightmare, except that it was now worse than ever because of the dripping blood.

Maybe it was because they hadn't seen whatever Nott and Parkinson had seen in the forest, or because they didn't have scars burning on their foreheads, but Neville, Ron, Draco, and Hermione didn't seem as worried about the Stone as Marly. The idea of Voldemort certainly scared them—although Draco seemed to feel some reverence for him, passed down by his father—but Voldemort didn't keep visiting them in dreams, and they were so busy with their studying they didn't have much time to fret about what anyone might be up to.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd inventing self-stirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Marly couldn't help cheering with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows.

It didn't take long for Neville and Draco to join them, divested of all books and parchment.

"No more studying," Neville sighed happily, stretching out on the grass.

"You could look more cheerful, Marly, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done," said Ron. "There's no need to worry yet."

Marly was rubbing her forehead.

"I wish I knew what this _means_!" she burst out angrily. "My scar keeps hurting—it's happened before, but never like this." It had throbbed a few times in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she'd assumed it had something to do with the book of Dark Arts that Quirrell kept on display on top of his desk.

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested.

"That's what anyone _sane_ would do," murmured Draco.

"I'm not ill," said Marly. "I think it's a warning…it means danger's coming…"

Ron couldn't get worked up, it was too hot.

"Marly, relax, Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around."

Marly nodded, but she couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that there was something she'd forgotten to do, something important. When she tried to explain this, Hermione said, "That's just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd done that one."

Marly was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn't have anything to do with work, though. She watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid, who had gotten a dragon from a stranger in a pub…

Marly suddenly jumped to her feet.

"Where're you going?" said Ron sleepily.

"We never told Dumbledore about what Hagrid told us," said Marly. She had turned white. "We've got to go and see him, now. I mean—it's not just Snape, or whoever, anymore. It's Voldemort that's involved."

Draco stood as well. "I know where his office is…Professor Flitwick had me send a note to him once. But the password must've changed by now, that was ages ago."

"I just hope Dumbledore believes us," said Marly, and started running back up to the school.

They didn't speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds.

"We've _got_ to go to Dumbledore," Marly repeated. "Which way is it, Draco?"

She looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. She had never been told where Dumbledore lived.

"Er—this way, I think," said Draco, and took off at a trot towards the seventh floor. They had just passed a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy when the elderly Headmaster rounded the corner ahead of them.

"Professor!" Marly panted, stopping. "I hope you have some time—"

The Headmaster smiled at them serenely, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon glasses. "Not much, I'm afraid, I have been called into the Ministry of Magic for an emergency."

"This is important," said Hermione.

"More important than the Ministry of Magic, my dear?" Professor Dumbledore peered at her.

"It's about the Philosopher's Stone," said Draco.

The Headmaster's eyebrows raised so high they seemed to disappear into his hairline. "The Philosopher's Stone! However did you find out about it?"

"Professor, someone's going to try and steal it," Marly said urgently. "It started back on Halloween, with the troll—" and out poured the whole story, words tumbling over themselves out of her mouth. Dumbledore listened intently, but did not say anything until she finished.

"I assure you, Ms. Potter, the Stone is very well protected," he said calmly. He raised a hand when Ron made an aborted movement to protest. "And Professor Snape has my full trust. He would not try and steal it. However, just in case, I will tell Mr. Filch to guard the third-floor corridor until I get back tonight."

Marly felt relieved. "Thank you, Professor!"

"Now, it's a lovely day outside! Why don't you all go back outside and enjoy it?"

Once they separated from Dumbledore, Hermione let out a large sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness! Now Professor Dumbledore knows…nothing can happen to it now."

"Hermione," said Draco, "he said he's setting _Filch_ up to watch over the corridor. What's he going to do against You-Know-Who? He's a Squib, he can't do anything except threaten to chain up students!"

Neville nodded uneasily. "Even if it's not You-Know-Who himself, it could still be Snape, I've heard he's a really good dueller."

"I bet he's the one that sent for Dumbledore," said Marly, suddenly thinking of it. "Now he's got Dumbledore out of the way—Filch won't be a problem for him—it's tonight, it's got to be, he's found out everything he needs. I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

"But what can we—"

Hermione gasped. Marly, Ron, Draco, and Neville wheeled around.

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"What are you five doing inside?"

"We wanted to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, "and he told us we shouldn't be inside on a day like this."

"Then I suggest you go back outside and enjoy the sunshine," she said shortly.

Out on the stone steps, Marly turned to the others.

"Right, here's what we've got to do," she whispered urgently. "One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape—find him, follow him if he leaves the staffroom. Hermione, you'd better do that."

"Why me?"

"It's obvious," said Ron. "You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know." He put on a high voice, "'Oh, Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen _b_ wrong…'"

"Oh, shut up," said Hermione, but she agreed to go and watch out for Snape.

"And we'd better stay outside the third-floor corridor," Marly told Neville, Ron, and Draco. "Come on."

But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the main staircase than Professor Snape turned up.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

They stared at him, and wondered where Hermione was.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

"We were—" Marly began, without any idea what she was going to say. What could she say? They were in the forbidden corridor.

"You want to be more careful," said Snape. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"

Marly flushed. They turned to go back, but Snape called them back.

"Be warned—any more nighttime wanderings will not be tolerated. Good day to you."

He strode off in the direction of the staffroom.

"We'd better be more careful," said Marly. "Draco—you'd better go hang out with some Ravenclaws, obviously a bunch of Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw is suspicious."

"All right," Draco agreed reluctantly. "I'll think up an alibi for you if anyone asks."

Marly, Neville, and Ron went back to the common room. Hermione was waiting for them anxiously, and sprang up at once when they arrived.

"I'm sorry, Marly!" she wailed. "Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him, and I got away only a few minutes ago, I don't know where Snape went."

"Well, he caught _us_ near the third-floor corridor, but I think he went back to the staffroom," said Neville. "Draco's with some Ravenclaws now, he's getting us an alibi."

"This is it, then, isn't it?" Marly said.

The other three stared at her. She was pale and her eyes were glittering.

"I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone first."

"You're mad!" said Ron.

"You can't!" said Hermione. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"

"No, I agree with Marly," said Neville, in a rare show of bravery. "Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone—_You-Know-Who_ comes back!"

"Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over?" Marly said. "There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the House Cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?"

She glared at them.

"You're right, Marly," said Hermione in a small voice.

"I'll use the Invisibility Cloak," said Marly. "I've used it enough at night—I know some secret passages that should help, too."

"But will it cover all four of us?" said Ron.

"All—all four of us?"

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?"

"Well, I thought Nev might come, but you two seemed so against the idea."

"Of course not," said Hermione briskly. "How do you think you'd get to the Stone without us? I'd better go and look through my books, there might be something useful…"

"But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too."

"Not if I can help it," said Hermione grimly. "Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that."

"Draco might want to come, too," said Marly. "Does anyone know where the Ravenclaw common room is?"

None of them did, so at dinner they pulled Draco aside to a corner and told him in low tones their plan. "I'll understand if you don't want to come," said Marly. "We'll be risking expulsion—not to mention our _lives_."

"I don't know," said Draco hesitantly. "There's already four of you…I can make some music so Fluffy stays asleep, and keep watch for you."

"Good idea," agreed Hermione.

"If Fluffy's already knocked out by the time we get there—you should go to the owlery and write a letter to Dumbledore telling him to come back at once," advised Neville.

After dinner the four of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Marly any more, after all. This was the first night she hadn't been upset by it. Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come across one of the enchantments they were about to try to break. Marly, Neville, and Ron didn't talk much. The three of them were thinking about what they were about to do,

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

"Better get the cloak," Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Marly ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. She pulled out the cloak and then her eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given her for Christmas. She pocketed it to use on Fluffy, in case Draco had to go off to the owlery right away.

She ran back down to the common room.

"We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all four of us—if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own—"

"Good idea," said Ron. They hurriedly tossed the cloak on and Marly groaned; their feet were clearly visible.

"Maybe—maybe three of us can go, then Marly can come back for the fourth one," said Neville. "Or one of us will have to stay behind…"

"Or I can go ahead with the cloak and make sure it's clear for you guys," said Marly. "I'll make some sparks if it's clear." She looked at the grandfather clock by the door; they couldn't afford to waste any more time. Snape—or whoever, she still had a niggling doubt that it was Snape—might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep."

"That's an idea," said Hermione. "Let's go, then, and everyone be as quiet as you can!"

Marly hurried ahead of the others down every corridor, and only once made them wait, when Mrs. Norris stood guard at the foot of the first set of stairs. But she threw a crumpled-up piece of parchment down a side corridor and waited until the cat had whisked away—presumably to get Filch—before shooting sparks to get the others to follow her.

They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

"Who's there?" he said suddenly as Marly climbed toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.

"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

Marly had a sudden idea.

"Peeves," she said, in her hoarsest whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible." Which was true.

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake—I didn't see you—of course I didn't, you're invisible—forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Marly. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."

And he scooted off.

"_Brilliant_, Marly!" Ron whispered, once they had caught up to her.

A few seconds later, and they were there, outside the third-floor corridor—and the door was already ajar.

Draco and Filch both lay crumpled unconscious on the floor just outside. Neville whimpered.

"Well, there you are," Marly said quietly. "He's already got past Fluffy."

Seeing the two motionless bodies and the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all of them what was facing them. Pulling the cloak off, Marly turned to the other three.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said. "You can take the cloak, I won't need it now."

"Don't be stupid," said Ron.

"We're coming," said Hermione.

"We should wake up Draco first though," said Neville, but when they tried, he remained unconscious, even when Ron shook him so hard his head accidentally banged against the floor.

"We'd better go," Marly said anxiously. "We don't have time for this…"

She pushed the door open.

As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a harp," said Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Marly. "Well, here goes…"

She put Hagrid's flute up to her lips and blew, trying out a simple tune Hagrid had taught her. She wasn't very good, but from the first note the beast's eyes began to droop. Marly hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased—it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Ron warned Marly as they crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.

"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!"

"I'll go," Neville said bravely. He gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog's legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

"What can you see?" Hermione said anxiously.

"Nothing—just black—there's no way of climbing down, we'll have to drop. Can you make a light?"

"Sure." She whispered a spell and bright bluebell flames flowed out of her wand and into the dark room below.

"It's a plant—that'll be a soft landing, at least," Neville said. He lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips. Then he looked up at Ron and said, "See you in a minute, I hope…"

And he let go. There were several moments of silence before—

FLUMP.

"It's okay!" he called. "It's a soft landing, the plant's doing its job…blimey! It's a Devil's Snare! Quick, come down before Hermione's fire makes it back away too far."

Ron followed right away, then Hermione, and Marly was the last to go. In the few seconds before she dropped through, the dog growled and twitched, but then she was falling down, down through cold, damp air—there was a loud bark—

"Hermione," said Neville in a terrified voice, "make more of those flames! It's starting to grab me! Ron—stop moving—the more you struggle, the tighter it will grab you."

The plant had started to twist snakelike tendrils around Marly's legs, and it had already bound Ron and Neville tightly. Hermione leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall.

"Hurry, I can't breathe," Ron gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around his chest.

She whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something, and more of the bluebell flames poured out at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the three felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they were able to pull free.

"Lucky you know your Herbology, Neville," said Marly as she joined Hermione by the wall, wiping sweat off her face.

"We must be miles under the school," said Hermione, peering up at the light the size of a postage stamp, which was the open trapdoor.

"This way," said Marly, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the only way forward.

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and Marly was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, she remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards' bank. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon—Norbert had been bad enough, and she could _speak_ to Norbert.

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered.

Marly listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?"

"I don't know…sounds like wings to me."

"There's light ahead—I can see something moving."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" said Ron.

"Probably," said Marly. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once…well, there's no other choice…I'll run."

"No, wait," said Neville. "Hermione—do that flame thing again, see if they react."

Hermione obliged him, sending a jet of bluebell flames at the shiny golden birds. One of them dipped into the fire briefly, and its wings seemed to catch on fire. Then it fell.

"They're not birds!" Marly said suddenly. "They're _keys_! Winged keys—look carefully."

"There's broomsticks over there," said Neville. "We must have to catch the key for the door!"

"It'll be better to just burn them down," said Hermione. She aimed the jet of bluebell flames at the cloud of keys. They caught fire easily, and fell clattering to the floor, wings fluttering madly as they turned to ashes.

Marly ran to the door and looked at the lock closely. "We're looking for a big, old-fashioned key—probably silver, like the handle."

They ran into the midst of the falling keys and beat out the flames, looking for one that would fit the old-fashioned lock of the door. The bewitched keys were quick, however, even with their wings turned to ash, and it was almost impossible to catch one.

Not for nothing, though, was Marly the youngest Seeker in a century. She had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, she noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole. It was mostly intact still; Hermione's bluebell flames hadn't gotten it.

"That one!" she called to the others. "That big one—there—no, there—with bright blue wings—the feathers are all crumpled on one side."

Ron ran in the direction that Marly was pointing, but two keys struggling together to fly tripped him and he fell. In a twist of good luck, he landed on the one they needed with a nasty crunching noise.

"Got it!" he yelled.

"Great! Let's go!"

They ran to the door, the key struggling in Ron's hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned—it worked. The moment the lock clicked open, the key tried to take flight again, but failed; it was very battered, now that it had been caught—twice—and set on fire.

"Ready?" Marly asked the other three, her hand on the door handle. They nodded. She pulled the door open.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Marly, Neville, Ron, and Hermione shivered slightly—the towering white chessmen had no faces.

"Now what do we do?" Marly whispered.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "We've got to play our way across the room.

Behind the white pieces they could see another door.

"How?" said Hermione nervously.

"I'm not any good at chess," Neville said fearfully.

"I think," said Ron, "we're going to have be chessmen."

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

"Do we—er—have to join you to get across?"

The black knight nodded. Ron turned to the other three.

"This needs thinking about…" he said. "I suppose we've got to take the place of four of the black pieces…"

Marly and Hermione stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Finally he said, "Now, don't be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess, either—"

"We're not offended," said Marly quickly. "Just tell us what to do."

"Well, Marly, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione, you go there instead of that castle. Neville, why don't you take the other bishop."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to be a knight," said Ron.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a knight, two bishops, and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board, leaving four empty squares that Marly, Ron, and Hermione took.

"White always plays first in chess," said Ron, peering across the board. "Yes…look…"

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Marly's knees were trembling. What if they lost?

"Marly—move diagonally four squares to the right."

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown.

"Had to let that happen," said Ron, looking shaken. "Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on."

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Marly and Hermione were in danger. He himself darted around the board taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly. "Let me think—let me think…"

The white queen turned her blank face toward him.

"Yes…" said Ron softly, "it's the only way…I've got to be taken."

"NO!" Marly, Neville, and Hermione shouted.

"That's chess!" snapped Ron. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I make my move and she'll take me—that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Marly!"

"But—"

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?"

"Ron—"

"Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!"

There was no alternative.

"Ready?" Ron called, his face pale but determined. "Here I go—now, don't hang around once you've won."

He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor—Hermione screamed and Neville moaned, but they stayed on their squares—the white queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked as if he'd been knocked out.

Shaking, Marly moved three spaces to the left.

The white king took off his crown and threw it at Marly's feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Ron, the three charged through the door and up the next passageway.

"What if he's—?"

"He'll be all right," said Marly, trying to convince herself. "What do you reckon's next?"

"We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare; Flitwick must've put charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive; that leaves Quirrell's, and Snape's…"

"Something to do with potions, maybe," said Neville.

They had reached another door.

"All right?" Marly whispered.

"Go on."

Marly pushed it open.

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making the three of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Marly whispered as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs. "Come on, I can't breathe."

She pulled open the next door, the three of them hardly daring to look at what came next—but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"Snape's," said Marly. "What do we have to do?"

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

"Look!" Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Marly looked over her shoulder and read it aloud:

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide,_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Hermione let out a great sigh and Marly, amazed, saw that she was smiling, the very last thing Marly felt like doing.

"_Brilliant_," said Hermione. "This isn't magic—it's logic—a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."

"But so will we, won't we?" Neville asked nervously.

"Of course not," said Hermione. "Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison. two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple."

"But how do we know which to drink?" said Marly.

"Give me a minute."

Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands.

"Got it," she said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire—toward the Stone."

Marly looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough for one of us," she said. "That's hardly one swallow."

"Snape's already gotten through," Neville pointed out. "Maybe it refills once someone's gone through the fire."

They looked at each other.

"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"

Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

"I'll go through, and if it refills, Hermione, you drink it and follow me," said Marly. "Nev, you drink the other one. Get back and get Ron. Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy—go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. We might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but we're no match for him, really."

"But Marly—what if You-Know-Who's with him?" asked Neville anxiously.

"Well—I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Marly, pointing at her scar. "I might get lucky again."

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Marly and threw her arms around her.

"_Hermione_!"

"Marly—you're a great witch, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Marly, very embarrassed, as Neville joined in the hug.

"Me!" said Hermione, letting go. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery and—"

"Be _careful_!" Neville said, gripping his wand with shaking fingers.

"You drink first, Nev," said Marly. "You are sure which is which, aren't you, Hermione?"

"Positive," said Hermione. Neville took a long drink from the round bottle at the end, and shuddered.

"It's not poison?" said Marly anxiously.

"No—but it's like ice."

"Quick, go, before it wears off."

"Good luck—take care—"

"GO!"

Neville turned and walked straight through the purple fire.

Marly took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. She turned to face the black flames.

"Here I come," she said, and she drained the little bottle in one gulp.

It was indeed as though ice was flooding her body. She put the bottle down and walked forward; she braced herself, saw the black flames licking her body, but couldn't feel them—for a moment she could see nothing but dark fire—then she was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there—but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.


	18. The Man with Two Faces

**CH 15: THE MAN WITH TWO FACES  
**

* * *

It was Quirrell.

"_You_!" gasped Marly. She felt a mighty surge of relief—she _knew_ it wasn't Snape!

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Miss Potter, after seeing your little friend waiting for me."

"They thought it was Snape," said Marly. "But—"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Marly couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't.

"But—at that Quidditch match—"

"No, no, no," said Quirrell with an air of condescension. "It wasn't _Snape_ trying to kill you. _I _was. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to him. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."

Hermione's voice echoed loudly. "Snape was trying to _save _her?"

"Hello, Ms. Granger," said Quirrell coolly. "Of course. Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really…he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he _did_ make himself unpopular…and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight. Oh, you too, I suppose, Ms. Granger."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Marly and Hermione, who exchanged terrified glances.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter, Granger. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"_You_ let the troll in?"

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls—you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off—and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.

"Now, wait quietly, Potter, Granger. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

It was only then that Marly realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this…but he's in London…I'll be far away by the time he gets back…"

All Marly could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror, or on Hermione; she could hear the other first-year whispering an incantation behind her.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest—" she blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me—as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side…"

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the Stone…I'm presenting it to my master…but where is it?"

Marly inched backwards towards Hermione, barely managing to stay on her feet; she struggled against the ropes binding her, but they didn't give. She _had_ to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.

"But Snape always seemed to look at me weird…"

"Oh, he _hates_ you," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you _dead_."

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing—I thought Snape was threatening you."

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions—he is a great wizard and I am weak—"

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Marly gasped.

" He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it…Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me…decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…"

Quirrell's voice trailed away. Marly was remembering her trip to Diagon Alley—how could she have been so stupid? She'd _seen _Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron.

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand…is the Stone _inside_ the mirror? Should I break it?"

Marly's mind was racing.

_What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment,_ she thought, _is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it—which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up to?_

"_Marly_," she heard Hermione whisper behind her. "_I've burned the ropes around me…I'm going to take your cloak and go around. Keep distracting him!"_

Quirrell was still talking to himself. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Marly's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the girl…Use the girl…"

Quirrell rounded on Marly.

"Yes—Potter—come here."

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Marly fell off.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Marly walked toward him.

_I must lie,_ she thought desperately. _I must look and pretend to see my parents—I must lie about what I see, that's all._

Quirrell moved close behind her. Marly breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from his turban. She closed her eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

She saw her reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. Her parents were there—looking just as scared. But a moment later, they smiled at her, and her mother pulled out a blood-red stone from her pocket. She winked at Marly and put the Stone in Marly's reflection's pocket—and as she did so, Marly felt something heavy drop into her real pocket. Somehow—incredibly—_she'd gotten the Stone_.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Marly swallowd, screwing up her courage.

"I see my parents," she said, and decided to describe the scene as much as possible, embellishing it a bit. "They're shaking hands with Dumbledore…Dumbledore has a ruby in one hand…I've won the House Cup for Gryffindor."

Quirrell cursed again.

"Get out of the way," he said. As Marly moved aside, she felt the Philosopher's Stone against her leg. Dare she make a break for it?

But she hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"She lies…she lies…"

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

"_I'm right behind you,_" said Hermione in a low voice.

Marly slowly reached into her pocket.

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to her…face-to-face…"

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough…for this…"

Marly felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting her to the spot, but she managed to grab the Stone, pull it out of her pocket sneakily, and hold it behind her back. A second later, its weight was gone; Hermione had taken it.

Petrified, she watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Marly would have screamed, but she couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Marly had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Marlene Potter…" it whispered.

Hermione squeaked. Marly couldn't move a muscle.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapour…I have form only when I can share another's body…but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks...faithful Quirrell has been drinking it for me…and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own…Now…why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Marly's legs. _He may know about the Stone, but he doesn't know Hermione has it now…_

She stumbled backward.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me…or you'll meet the same end as your parents. They died begging for mercy…"

"LIAR!" Marly shouted, suddenly angry.

Quirrell was walking backward at her, so that Voldemort could still see her. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching…" it hissed. "I always value bravery…Yes, girl, your parents were brave…I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight…but your mother needn't have died…she was trying to protect you. Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"NEVER!"

Marly sprang toward the flame door, seeing a flicker in the flames as Hermione ran through ahead of her—but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HER!" and the next second, Marly felt Quirrell's hand close on her wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Marly's scar; her head felt as though it was about to split in two; she yelled, struggling with all her might, and to her surprise, Quirrell let go of her. The pain in her head lessened—she looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers—they were blistering before his eyes.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Marly clean off her feet, landing on top of her, both hands around Marly's neck—Marly's scar was almost blinding her with pain, yet she could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold her—my hands—my hands!"

And Quirrell, though pinning Marly to the ground with his knees, let go of her neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms—Marly could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Marly, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face—

"AAAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off her, his face blistering, too, and then Marly knew: Quirrell couldn't touch her bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain—her only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop her from doing a curse.

Marly jumped to her feet, caught Quirrel by the arm, and hung on as tight as she could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Marly off—the pain in her head was building—she couldn't see—she could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HER! KILL HER!" and other voices, maybe in her own head, crying, "Marly! Marlene!"

She felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from her grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down…down…down…

Something gold was glinting just above her. The Snitch! She tried to catch it, but her arms were too heavy.

She blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.

She blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above her.

"Good afternoon, Marlene," said Dumbledore.

Marly stared at him. Then she remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! Hermione took it but I think he went after her—"

"Calm yourself, dear girl, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"Then Hermione kept it safe? Who does? Sir, I—"

"Marlene, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Marly swallowed and looked around herself. She realized she must be in the hospital wing. She was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to her was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Ronald Weasley, and Mr. Malfoy will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"But sir, the Stone—"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not realize you gave it to Ms. Granger until after she left, and I arrived in time to prevent him from going after her, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got there? You got Neville's owl?"

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left, however, the Minister is very insistent on certain things…I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you—"

"It was _you_."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't keep him from going after Hermione much longer—"

"Not the Stone, girl, you—the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" said Marly blankly, feeling warmth at the thought that such a great wizard actually cared about her welfare. "But your friend—Nicolas Flamel—"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You _did_ do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Marly's face.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, _very_ long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all—the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

Marly lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

"Sir?" said Marly. "I've been thinking…Sir—even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who—"

"Call him Voldemort, Marlene. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

"No, Marlene, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share…not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Marlene, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time—and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Marly nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made her head hurt. Then she said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me…things I want to know the truth about…"

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well…Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day…put it from your mind for now, Marlene. When you are older…I know you hate to hear this…when you are ready, you will know."

And Marly knew it would be no good to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave her time to dry her eyes on the sheet. When she had found her voice again, Marly said, "And the Invisibility Cloak—do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah—your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things…your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else…"

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Professor Snape—he hated my father, and because of that, he hates me…is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"_What_?"

"Yes…" said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? He couldn't bear being in your father's debt…I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace…but he's never hated _you_, Marlene. Oh, heavens no."

Marly tried to understand this, but it made her head pound, so she stopped.

"And, sir, there's one more thing…"

"Just the one?"

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror? And how did it get in there in the first place?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to _find_ the Stone—find it, but not use it—would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes. As for how it got into the mirror in the first place—that, my dear girl, is the result of many years' study of Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, and Charms…Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them—but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Earwax!"

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.

"Just five minutes," Marly pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Professor Dumbledore in…"

"Well, of course, that was the Headmaster, quite different. You need _rest_."

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey…"

"Oh, very well," she said. "But five minutes _only_."

And she let Hermione, Neville, Draco, and Ron in.

"_Marly_!"

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around her again, but Marly was glad Hermione held herself in as her head was still very sore.

"Oh, Marly, we were sure you were going to—Dumbledore was so worried—"

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "What _really_ happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumours. They knew what happened before Hermione ran out, but Marly told them everything anyways: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. They were a very good audience, and when Marly told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Neville squeaked, and Draco looked half-awed, half-terrified.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to _die_?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thins that—what was it?—'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'"

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his hero was.

"So what happened to you four?" said Marly.

"Well, I got back all right," said Neville. "I brought Ron and Draco round—that took a while—and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall—he already knew—he just said, 'Marlene's gone after him, hasn't she?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

"I met him on the chess board," said Hermione. "He seemed really relieved when I gave him the Stone, but he looked really worried still, too."

"I don't really remember much," said Draco with regret. "Filch was there—I managed to stay out of his sight though, at least until Quirrell came haring up. He shot some sort of red spell at me, I didn't hear the incantation, and the next thing I knew Neville and Ron were waking me up."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"_Well_," Hermione exploded, "if he did—I mean to say—that's terrible—you could have been killed."

"No, it isn't," said Marly thoughtfully. "I don't think he meant for me to go down and face him alone—but he's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, even after he told us the Stone'd be fine, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident I found out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could…"

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Draco, frowning. "Face You-Know-Who? No offense, Marly, but you're only a _first_ year."

Ron shrugged. "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course—you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you—but the food'll be good."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT," she said firmly.

Marly awoke that night to a dark figure standing over her and stroking her hair. She blinked—

"Professor Snape?"

"Hush, Potter," he murmured, then gave a great sigh. "Why must you get in trouble, Marlene Lily? Just like your mother…too curious for your own good…"

He was watching her with that sad, distant look in his dark eyes again.

"Sir…can you tell me about my mother? I haven't even seen a picture of her before…I've only ever seen her in the mirror…"

Professor Snape's hand froze on her hair before withdrawing. His wand appeared—"_Somnus._"

When Marly woke again, she didn't remember the encounter.

After a good night's sleep, Marly felt nearly back to normal.

"I want to go to the feast," she told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened her many candy boxes. "I can, can't I?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said sniffily, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be. "And you have another visitor."

"Oh, good," said Marly. "Who is it?"

Hagrid sidled through the door as she spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Marly, took one look at her, and burst into tears.

"It's—all—my—ruddy—fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands. "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

"Hagrid!" said Marly, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. "Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him."

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Marly bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying. "I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads…"

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Marly anxiously, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

"Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead—anyway, got yeh this…"

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Marly opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos…knew yeh didn' have any…d'yeh like it?"

Marly couldn't speak, but Hagrid understood.

Marly made her way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. She had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving her one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colours of silver and green to celebrate Slytherin's winning the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Marly walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. She slipped into a seat between Hermione and Neville at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at her.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were…you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points; Gryffindor, with four hundred and two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and thirty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and forty-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Marly could see Theodore Nott smirking at her and banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…"

"First—to Mr. Draco Malfoy…"

Draco's cheeks turned pink, and his fellow Ravenclaws clapped him on the back.

"…for bravely standing in the way of Voldemort, however briefly, I award Ravenclaw House ten points."

The Ravenclaw table broke out into cheers; they had overtaken Slytherin!

"Second—to Mr. Ronald Weasley…"

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

"…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House ten points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last there was silence again.

"Third—to Miss Hermione Granger…for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House ten points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Marly strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves—they were twenty points up.

"Fourth—to Mr. Neville Longbottom…"

Neville turned white with shock—he hadn't earned more than a few points for Gryffindor before, and all of those had been from Sprout in Herbology.

"…for your knowledge of Herbology under pressure, I award Gryffindor House ten points."

_Thirty points up!_ Marly whooped along with most of the table, grinning madly.

"And finally—to Miss Marlene Potter…" said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "…for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House fourteen points."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Marly, Ron, Hermione, and Neville stood up to yell and cheer as people mobbed them to hug them. Marly, still cheering, nudged Hermione in the ribs and pointed at Draco, who was grinning and cheering just as madly, hoisted on the shoulders of the Ravenclaws around him. Nott, over at the Slytherin table, couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Hufflepuff was celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet-and-gold and the silver became blue-and-bronze; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion and Ravenclaw eagle took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's, and then Professor Flitwick's, hands with a horrible forced smile. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

It was the best evening of Marly's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls…she would never, ever forget tonight.

Marly had almost forgotten that exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both she and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, had the best grades of the first years, and Draco came close behind her. Neville's excellent Herbology mark more than made up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad Trevor was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Chocolate Frogs as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, "all of you—I'll send you an owl."

"I'm not sure about you boys, but Marly, you have to come and stay with me, too," said Hermione. When Ron looked insulted, she added, "My parents don't approve of boys staying over."

"Thanks," said Marly, "I'll need something to look forward to. Just come and pick me up whenever…or send me a letter if you can't." She told them her address. "Don't send an owl—my relatives wouldn't like that."

"I don't think my father would approve of me going to your house, Ron," said Draco, looking uncomfortable. Marly was reminded that his father hadn't written him since he'd been Sorted into Ravenclaw.

"My house, then," said Neville. "Gran won't mind, and I think Mr. Malfoy won't care as much if you're at Longbottom Manor than with the Weasleys…"

"I'll send you an owl," Draco agreed.

People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

"Bye, Marly!"

"See you, Potter!"

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at her.

"Unfortunately," Marly muttered. "And not where I'm going, I promise you."

The five of them passed through the gateway together.

"There she is, Mum, there she is, look!"

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, pointing at Marly.

"Marlene Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mum! I can see—"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point."

Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.

"Busy year?" she said.

"Very," said Marly. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

It was a few minutes more before Neville's Gran came to get him—they Apparated away with barely enough time for Neville to say 'good-bye'—and then the Weasleys left. Hermione's parents, both of them looking rather frazzled, came and got her in a Muggle taxi-cab; then a tall, beautiful blonde woman in expensive wizarding robes came and got Draco.

"Your father wants a word with you," Marly heard her say, just before the pair Apparated away.

Marly's relatives hadn't arrived to pick her up, which was good, because she had told them she could make her own way home. She intended to go to Diagon Alley, put all the things she didn't need in her vault, visit the oculist, and then go by train back to Surrey.

Then she would have fun with the Dursleys. _They_ didn't know she wasn't allowed to use magic over the summer, after all.

_Fin_


End file.
